


Revolution of Love

by melblue



Category: Original Work
Genre: First Time, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical Romance, Historical slash, M/M, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Original Slash, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-17
Updated: 2011-07-17
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:38:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 52,550
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/melblue/pseuds/melblue
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The innocent son of a French aristocrat is sent to a Duke in England to escape the Revolution.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Innocent!

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written in 2000.
> 
> Babble about this story:  
> I was reading one of those Mills and Boon historical romance things and it must have affected my brain. I became obsessed with writing a slash historical romance, with original characters. One morning a couple of weeks later I woke up with this story stuck in my head. So I wrote it. It was actually harder than I thought it would be; I still don't think I got the language quite right. But I did manage to include the word 'ravish' and every cliché I could think of. (eg. The Innocent! The Rake! The Villian! The Unrequited Love! The Seduction! The Jealous Lover! The Abduction!, and at the last minute I remembered The Misunderstanding! And I even tried to do the 'overuse of... ellipsis in... dialogue... thing' that Barbara Cartland was such a master of.)
> 
> Warnings: I have to burble on with some warnings here.
> 
> * Even though this story is set during the French Revolution, it is a work of FICTION, and as such, I have adjusted the course of the revolution and one of its characters to suit MY imagination. If you want historical accuracy, please feel free to read a history textbook instead.  
> * The main character is only sixteen. Even though this seems to be a common age in historical romance fiction, you may personally consider it to be too young. So keep that in mind, because this character does get to have some very graphic sex. (This is rated NC17).  
> * There is also attempted non-consensual sex, and mention of non-consensual sex. It's very mild.
> 
> That's it really, on with the story (and by God it was hard to think of a suitably tacky title). I hope you enjoy reading it, coz I sure had a laugh writing it, even though it's a complete train-wreck!

The Marquis de Saint-Clair escorted the Doctor to his library and provided him with a glass of his best burgundy. The Doctor was one of his oldest and dearest friends and such friends were difficult to come by in these troubled times.

They had first met as young boys, at school in England. The Doctor had been the youngest son of one of France's finest and oldest families… but while they were at school his family had fallen into pecuniary scandal. Out of love for his friend, the young Marquis had sponsored the other young man's profession and then assisted him in establishing a lucrative practice. They had remained close friends.

Now as the rising revolution increasingly isolated and threatened the aristocracy, the Doctor remained the Marquis' greatest source for the latest news of the outside world. However, at this moment, there were matters much closer to the Marquis' heart to discuss and he watched the Doctor's face expectantly.

"She is improved, my friend."

The Marquis allowed an explosive sigh of relief.

"However, she is very weak. It was a bad miscarriage. The recuperation will be long."

"Ah! I was hoping to leave Paris, at least."

The Doctor nodded. "Of course. I am afraid though, that she cannot be moved yet. I am sorry, Dominic."

"No matter, Jean Pierre," the Marquis waved an elegant hand. "I am only glad that she will recover. We will leave when you say, no sooner."

"Yes," the Doctor frowned. "But… what about Remy?"

"Remy? What of my son?"

"Perhaps you should get him out of Paris at least."

"You think it necessary? I confess I would rather keep him with us."

There was a moment of silence.

"Jean Pierre?"

The Doctor's voice was hesitant. "Marguerite would probably rest easier knowing he is safe."

Again there was a moment of silence until the Marquis' voice broke it softly, "That is true, certainly. However I do not think that was the first reason on your mind. What has happened Jean Pierre?"

The Doctor was silent yet again, frowning at the ornate fireplace to his left.

"Do I have to drag it out of you?"

Worried eyes now met the Marquis', and the Marquis raised his eyebrows at the conflict he saw in them. "This is something you find awkward and difficult to tell me, _non_? But I think it best if you do tell me, Jean Pierre."

Jean Pierre smiled at his friend's reassurance and finally spoke. "Yes it is difficult. For many reasons, one you will be furious with Remy and I do not like to get my godson into trouble with his father. The other reason is more complex." He took a deep breath. "Very well, the other day I found Remy, with his friend Paul, in the _Place de la Greve_."

"What?!!"

The Doctor grimaced at his friend's tone. "Yes, they were dressed as peasants. They had obviously gone for a lark, though I do not think they enjoyed what they witnessed once they got there."

"A lark?" The Marquis' voice was strangled with horror and fury.

"It gets worse I am afraid. Robespierre was there and he recognised them."

" _Mon Dieu!_ " the Maquis gasped.

"Yes," Jean Pierre continued. "This is where it gets more complex. Ah…. You are aware of course, that Remy has inherited his mother's beauty."

The Marquis almost laughed aloud at this absurd change of topic. "He is a good looking boy, yes I am aware," he smirked, not without some pride.

"Well, Robespierre was not immune to your son's attraction." The Doctor blurted and watched the smirk fade from his friends face to be replaced with cold fury.

"What happened?"

"Nothing much. I intervened before things got out of hand and they were in a public place, even that dog Robespierre wouldn't risk his reputation by… yes well, I don't think Remy even realised what was going on."

"I see." There was a pause. "I had not heard that Robespierre…"

"No, he keeps it fairly quiet, but he definitely leans in that direction. You know it is not uncommon."

The last was said self-deprecatingly. The Marquis was well aware that his friend had not outgrown their own youthful experimentation, and that his preferences were now firmly set towards masculine lovers.

"Anyway," the Doctor continued. "Robespierre made it quite clear he would see Remy again."

" _Merde!_ "

"Yes," Jean Pierre agreed.

"I see why you think I should send him away." The Marquis shook his head. "All of France is not safe for him now."

"No," Jean Pierre agreed again.

"Then I will send him to England," the Marquis made his decision swiftly, as was his wont. "As soon as possible, in fact tomorrow."

Jean Pierre nodded. "You will send him to Avesbury?"

"Yes. Justin will keep him safe."

"We have not seen him for seventeen years," Jean Pierre reminded him.

"I know, but I have kept in contact with him. And this is Marguerite's son as well. He will help us."

"Then it is for the best."

"I will make some legal provisions as well." The Marquis rose and rang the bell. When his maitre d'hotel appeared he requested his agent be summoned. Then he turned back to Jean Pierre, who rose from his chair.

"I will take him to England, and then return." The Doctor informed him.

"No," the Marquis shook his head.

"Dominic…" Jean Pierre protested.

"No. It would be too suspicious. This must be done quietly and I think you may be watched, my friend. I trust my agent, I will send him with Remy."

The Doctor heaved a heavy sigh. "Very well then. I must leave, I have other appointments, but I will return to check on Marguerite tomorrow." He grasped his friend's hand. "Do not be too hard on Remy, eh?"

"I do not think I will even mention his 'lark'. It will be difficult enough to explain why he must leave. But I thank you, Jean Pierre, for telling me of this."

Jean Pierre smiled in reply and then left as the Marquis' agent entered the room.

After an hour all the arrangements were made and the Marquis was satisfied. His son would leave before dawn the next day and within the week would be safe in England.

Now he merely had to face the boy.

* * *

"No! Papa, do not make me go."

"My son, it is for the best. Paris is too dangerous now. Your Maman cannot be moved while she is so ill and I cannot leave her. But I am determined that one of us will be safe."

"Then at least let me go to Saint-Clair. Why send me to England?"

"The country is almost as dangerous as the city, Remy. The revolution spreads everywhere. No, England is the safest place." _Particularly for you, my little son_ , the Marquis thought and then sighed.

"Then I must stay by your side and help protect Maman. You are treating me like a child. Do you forget that I am sixteen now?"

"No son, I do not forget. And while you are no longer a child, you are also not yet a man." The Marquis watched his son's rebellious frown, and pouting lips, and sternly repressed a smile. "If you want to be treated as a man, you would do best to remember your duty and obey your father."

"Papa!" Remy stopped himself from stamping his foot, just in time, and drew himself up in dignified affront.

"No, that is enough Remy. You are going. Your Maman will recover more rapidly if she knows you are safe and then we will join you. But you are leaving now."

Remy pressed his lips tightly together and bit his tongue. He knew that there was no point in continuing the argument; his father's mind once made up was almost impossible to change. He took a deep breath and then asked, "Where am I going in England, then?"

"I have an old friend, the Duke of Avesbury. While it is true that I have not seen him since before you were born, we have kept in regular contact. I know he will take you in."

"You have not asked him?"

"There has been no time. But it will not be a problem; he will definitely take your mother's son. He had a great fondness for her at one time."

_Ah, **that** English Duke_ , Remy thought to himself in surprise. He had heard the story from his nurse when he was much younger. He had dragged it out of her after overhearing some gossip between the maids. The English Duke had been one of his father's closest friends throughout their youth, but upon meeting Remy's mother, Marguerite, daughter of the Chevalier Vermont, both young men had fallen in love with her. There had been a brief period of competition and animosity, but when the Duke had realised the extent of his former friends feelings and the direction of the young Marguerite's, he had repaired the friendship and even stood for his friend at the wedding. Remy thought it a romantic and noble story, but knew his father would not approve of his knowing it, so he did not reveal his curiosity to see the Duke.

Now he merely sighed deeply at the thought of leaving his parents in Paris. "When will I go?" he asked in a small voice.

"You will leave tomorrow…"

"Tomorrow!" Remy exclaimed but his father ignored him and continued. "…I will send Gaston with you. He has some papers that I have drawn up for the Duke to sign."

"Papers?" Remy frowned.

"In the case that something happens to me or your mother, the Duke will become your legal guardian." He noted the imminent explosion on his son's face and raised one hand to forestall it. "It is merely a precautionary measure."

The Marquis watched his son's face calm into resignation and knew that his decision was now accepted. However at his son's next words he realised that the battle was not quite over.

"I wish to go to Paul to say goodbye. I will be back this evening."

"No Remy, I am afraid that is impossible. No one must know you are leaving."

"Papa, this is ridiculous." Now Remy did stamp his foot.

"It is too dangerous."

"Dangerous? Why more dangerous than any other day you have let me go? I will not tell him I am leaving." Remy's voice was now sulky.

"Remy, you will not leave this house until you leave it tomorrow with Gaston. That is final. No more discussion." His son's face was still mutinous and the Marquis found himself resorting to emotional blackmail. "Your Maman would like to spend as much time as possible with you before you leave. I suggest you go and see her. Jean Pierre has declared her well enough."

As his son joyously left the room, the Marquis sighed to himself and thanked the Gods above that it had worked. 


	2. The Journey!

In the end, Remy found it quite an exciting adventure to arise while it was still dark and secretly leave the house in which he had been born. While his leave-taking with his parents had been emotional and distressing, once outside the house, dressed again in his peasant costume, driving through the dark streets of Paris in a rickety wagon with Gaston, his spirits had become quite jubilant. It had even been exciting when they had encountered a suspicious guard at the West Barricade and Gaston had become involved in a lengthy argument. In the end the agent had discreetly paid over a sum of money to the guard, and they had been allowed to pass through.

Now out in the countryside, with the sun rising and the birds singing, Remy was looking forward to seeing a country he had only heard about from his father, and meeting the English Duke of his parent's youth. He chattered and joked with Gaston for a while, and then eventually dozed off sprawled in the back of the wagon on a load of straw and vegetables.

He was jolted awake when the wagon clattered onto cobblestones in a small town, and climbed up to sit beside Gaston on the bench.

"Where are we?"

"Beauvais, _milor'_." Gaston replied. "We will stop at a tavern I know here, and have some luncheon."

Remy was surprised. "How long was I asleep?"

Gaston grinned at him. "I'd say you were snoring for a good three hours, _milor_ '."

"I do not snore!"

"So you say," Gaston grinned again.

"How long will it take to get to Calais?" Remy asked.

"We should arrive there tomorrow evening. We can cross to England the following day, I should imagine."

"Fine. Now I am hungry."

"We are almost there, _milor'._ "

It turned out the inn was owned by Gaston's brother, and they enjoyed a good meal in the friendly kitchen with Gaston's many nieces and nephews. Remy found himself wishing they could stay longer, but Gaston was determined to have his charge as far as possible from Paris before they stopped for the night and so they continued the journey almost as soon as the meal was over.

The rest of the afternoon passed in a quiet haze as the wagon continued its rumbling progress through the countryside and the various villages along the road. Eventually Remy managed to talk Gaston into allowing him to drive the wagon, while Gaston dozed on the seat beside him.

Shortly after sunset they arrived at a small village near Amiens and obtained a room at the local inn. Remy found the food rather disappointing but still managed to find some enjoyment in watching the locals in the coffee-room. The villagers seemed suspicious of the two strangers, however, and Gaston soon thought it prudent to retreat to their bedchamber where Remy found it difficult to sleep on a very lumpy and narrow trundle bed.

* * *

After his lack of sleep the night before Remy once again spent most of the next morning asleep in the back of the wagon. This time they did not stop for lunch but ate some bread and cheese, which Gaston had procured from the inn. Gaston once more allowed Remy to drive the wagon, but as they neared Calais he again took the reins until they reached the main marketplace in the busy town. Here Remy watched silently as Gaston sold the horse and wagon and then purchased their passage to England for the next day.

The inn they stayed at that night was a large and busy one near the waterfront. The patrons at this inn were a mixture of local townspeople and travellers and were much more inclined to be friendly. Gaston and Remy found themselves seated at a table with some English couriers, who were also taking the boat across the next day, and Remy took the opportunity to practice his English with them. He was very proud of himself when they told him that his English was excellent with only a slight accent. He knew his father would be pleased, as the Marquis had taken great pains that he should learn the language fluently.

His spirits plummeted however, when one of the couriers, who had left Paris that morning on a fast horse, informed them that the Committee for Public Safety had now decreed that for ' _their own protection_ ' aristocrats were not permitted to leave their houses unless under a strict guard. When one of the couriers then looked at Remy thoughtfully and remarked that he was leaving the country ' _just in time_ ', Gaston thanked the men quickly for their company and hauled Remy out of the room as fast as he could.

Once inside their bedchamber Gaston swore loudly. " _Merde!_ I did not like that. We should not leave this room again until it is time to get the boat, _milor'_."

"Very well," Remy had to admit that he was feeling nervous as well. "Do you think that Englishman will tell anyone?"

Gaston shook his head. "No, I do not think so. His sympathies seemed to be towards the aristocracy. A lot of these couriers work for the English aristocracy, so he would keep his mouth shut. But he saw what you are too easily and maybe others will also. That is why we should remain in this room, _milor'_."

"I agree," Remy flung himself on his comfortable bed, and then grinned over at Gaston. "I think I will sleep tonight. I am sorry if my snoring should keep you awake."

Gaston snorted and blew out the lamp.

* * *

Remy did not find it quite as easy to sleep as he had thought he would. Just as he was growing drowsy he remembered the other courier's news about Paris and his thoughts were immediately full of his Papa and his Maman, trapped in the city. He was overwhelmed with the need to return but knew that he would never get Gaston to agree, and his chances of getting away from Gaston to return on his own were minimal. His mind raced and his stomach churned in fear and despair for the rest of the night and when Gaston finally got him up in the morning, his head ached and he felt light-headed and dizzy.

Gaston eyed him carefully but said nothing and merely made sure that Remy drank his coffee and ate something before they left, so that by the time they got to the boat Remy no longer felt dizzy, though his headache remained.

As the boat moved away from the dock and headed out to the channel Remy saw Gaston release a large sigh of relief and then his father's agent turned to him and smiled.

"Tonight, we will be in England. You are safe, _milor_ '."

Remy returned the smile wanly and Gaston grinned at him. "I hope you are not going to be seasick. Perhaps we should return to the cabin?"

"No," Remy shook his head. "You may if you wish. I like it out here."

After Gaston had gone Remy leaned against the railing for a while and watched the choppy water of the channel. There was a strong breeze blowing. Remy enjoyed the sensation of it whipping through his hair and he pulled its length from the riband, which tied it back, to experience the sensation more fully. Eventually however, the view became monotonous and he turned to the seat behind him and leaned back against the wall, closing his eyes.

He must have dozed for a period of time but came to full awareness at the sensation of someone sitting down on the bench beside him. He opened his eyes to confront the friendly face of the young English courier of the night before.

"I see you made it then," the young man remarked.

Remy could see no reason for secrecy now and simply replied, "Yes."

The young man smiled. "I'm glad. The name's Timothy, by the way."

"I am Remy Saint-Clair," Remy replied politely. "Please call me Remy."

Timothy raised an eyebrow. "The son of the Marquis de Saint-Clair?"

" _Comment savez-vous_ …?" Remy began in surprise, and then collected himself. "You are very knowledgeable of the French Aristocracy."

"Well it's part of my job," Timothy laughed. "Actually I once met your father. My employer sent me to him with a message. I believe they had known one another at one time. Anyway, he was very polite to me; they aren't always you know," he confided and then added, "I believe he has been very wise to send you to England now, but why aren't your parents with you?"

Remy was at first taken aback by Timothy's personal enquiry, but he decided that he liked the young man very much. His friendly face was natural and open, the hazel eyes warm and sparkling with good humour. He was dressed simply but neatly in the top-boots, black riding breeches and coat of a courier, and his long dark hair was pulled back with a simple black riband. While he was not of the aristocracy, he had obviously been educated and was well spoken with engaging manners. Remy decided to confide in him.

"My mother has been ill and she is not fully recovered. She could not be moved, and my father would not leave her. He made me come, I did not want to leave, and now they cannot follow me. _C'est affreux_!"

"Oh, I am sorry," Timothy replied sympathetically. "But you know there are still ways of getting out of Paris, they may yet escape."

"Perhaps. But let us change the subject," Remy did not want to dwell on the possibilities his mind had conjured up through the night. "How long have you been a courier? Is it a good profession?"

Timothy complied quickly. "I enjoy it. I've been doing it for about five years now. I started when I was about your age. I'm thinking you're about fifteen?"

"Sixteen." Remy corrected him firmly.

"Ah yes," Timothy smiled at him again. "I'm an orphan you see. Brought up by the local vicar in my village though. He's a really good man; I still visit him a lot. Anyway I wanted to travel and the Vicar, he knew my employer needed a new courier and arranged it for me. And I've been at it ever since, seen a fair bit of the world but mainly France. It's a good life really; my employer pays me well. And there's been other benefits as well," he added mysteriously.

"Who is your employer?" Remy asked curiously.

"Well, not exactly supposed to go announcing that everywhere, you know. But he is a member of the English aristocracy, which is how I ended up meeting your father." He noticed Remy's sombre expression at the mention of his father and hastened to change the subject. "So where exactly are you headed in England, anyway?"

Remy saw no harm in telling his new friend. "London. My father has a very old friend there and I am going to him."

Timothy now seemed to be eyeing him nervously. "Old friend eh? Umm… you don't happen to know his name do you?"

" _Oui_ , but of course I do." Remy replied, gazing out over the waves. "He is the Duke of Avesbury."

Remy heard a slight gasp and turned to find Timothy looking at him in great consternation. "Really… Avesbury. You sure about that?"

"Well of course I am sure." Remy was now getting impatient. "What is the matter with that?"

There was a moment of silence and then Timothy spoke. "I'm not sure that you…" He broke off and when he continued Remy was sure that he had changed what he was going to say completely. "He's my employer, actually."

" _C'est formidable_!" Remy was stunned. "But that is very good. I will know someone there. Tell me all about him!" he demanded.

"Um… I… you… I," Timothy seemed to make a great effort to collect himself and then continued, "I probably shouldn't be doing this but…" He stopped again and eyed Remy carefully. "Do you know anyone else in England you could go to?"

" _Pardon_?" Remy gaped. "Why? Why should I not go there?" He frowned. "He is not ill or something?"

"God no," Timothy assured him. "No one on this Earth is healthier than Avesbury. But you… well you're…"

"What is wrong with me?" Remy asked anxiously. "Does he no longer like the French? But my father is still friends with him."

"No, that's not it." Timothy was abrupt. "Oh God. Well, it's just that you look… you're beautiful!" he blurted.

Remy felt himself blush a deep, fiery red with embarrassment. He knew that he looked like his mother, who was one of the loveliest women in France, but always found it embarrassing when people reacted to that similarity. And he really couldn't see the relevance of it to this situation.

"Well, what has that got to do with anything?" he eventually managed to say.

Timothy was himself also slightly pink with embarrassment. He sighed. "I'm thinking your father hasn't seen Avesbury in a while?"

Remy was now even more confused. The whole conversation had become completely incomprehensible. "Not since before I was born. But they have kept in contact."

"Thought so. Well, the Duke's lifestyle has changed you know. He's a bit of a rake, particularly with…"

" _Comment_? Rake?" Remy interrupted at this unfamiliar word.

"Umm… " Timothy thought for a moment. "You know, I don't think I should be telling you about this. I'm thinking you'll be his ward anyway, so he's bound to resist temptation."

"I do not understand anything of what you say," Remy's voice rose as his frustration became evident.

"Probably for the best." Timothy now smiled at him serenely and Remy was even more confused and frustrated.

"You are very annoying."

"I've been told that before." Timothy continued to grin at him.

Remy was disarmed and laughed. "Cannot you tell me anything of the Duke? Anything sensible?"

Now Timothy laughed. "Well I can tell you that he's thirty six years old, and very wealthy. He's also one of the most powerful men in the country, which is why he gets away with… um" he interrupted himself and Remy frowned. Before the boy could say anything he continued quickly, "Yes, so he's very powerful, and he's also very good to work for."

"What does he look like?"

"Ah… he's tall. You would probably come up to his chin. He's also large, you know, strong and healthy, he's into sports, hunting, boxing, and such. Dark hair, his eyes are brown, he's generally considered handsome."

" _Tres bien_ ," Remy murmured thoughtfully. "Where does he live?"

"He has a large house in Grosvenor Square in London. His ducal estate is at Avesbury in Surrey. And he has various other houses and hunting lodges here and there. He gave up his house in Paris but he still has one in Italy. Anything else you want to know?"

" _Oui_ , is he married?"

Timothy sprawled back on the bench and roared with laughter.

"What is so funny?" Remy was once again confused. "I want to know if there is a Duchess and what she is like? My father did not tell me if he had married."

Timothy recovered. "Lucky for me, you definitely didn't understand before." He smirked. "There is no Duchess, Remy. I don't think there ever will be, he has a nephew for an heir."

_Maybe he did not recover from the disappointment of my mother_ , Remy thought with great satisfaction. "He does not like women?" he fished.

"No," Timothy snorted and then Remy was shocked to hear the other man giggle. "He doesn't."

_Ah, I was right_ , Remy thought. _Poor English Duke_.

At that moment Gaston reappeared with some food and Remy realized that he was very hungry. He introduced Timothy to Gaston and explained about the coincidence of Timothy's employer being the Duke. Gaston invited Timothy to join their meal, and then they spent the rest of the afternoon listening to tales of Timothy's travels, which Remy found very interesting.

When the boat docked at Dover, Remy was glad for Timothy's presence when he led them without delay to _The Fisherman's Rest_ , a large comfortable inn on the main road to London. Timothy informed them that the London-Dover coach actually started from the inn in the morning and assisted Gaston in booking their seats on the stage for the following day. Remy was disappointed to learn that Timothy was to travel to Brighton before going to London, so would not be able to join them.

They spent a very enjoyable evening in the inn however, and the next morning Timothy escorted them to the stage. Just before Remy boarded the coach, he felt Timothy's arms slip around his waist in a brief embrace and then the young man touched his cheek gently.

"You take care of yourself, Remy. I hope I'll see you soon."

Remy smiled and then followed Gaston onto the coach.


	3. The Destination!

Remy found the journey to London very boring. At first he had eagerly looked out of the window to see the countryside but within a depressingly short time the sky had turned grey and all he could see was a sort of misty drizzle which completely obscured the country. He sat back onto the seat and gave a long-suffering look to Gaston who merely looked amused. The other occupants of the coach were also very dull. They were all much older and seemed content to sleep the entire time, only waking when someone left or boarded the coach or when food was handed in.

By the time the coach reached London it was dark, still raining, and Remy was very sore and tired. He followed Gaston from the coach and stretched, relieved to ease the strain of cramped muscles. He looked around the courtyard they were in but could see nothing but rain-slick, grey cobblestones and misty lamplight. So far England was very disappointing.

They walked out into the busy street, and Gaston hailed a hackney and directed the jarvey to Grosvenor Square. Remy was beginning to feel anxious about his imminent introduction to the Duke, particularly after the confusion of his conversation with Timothy. He fervently wished that the cheerful young man was with them now.

The cab stopped outside a large building with an imposing set of steps leading to the front door. Through the misty drizzle Remy could see that many of the windows of the house were brightly lit and he could even pick out the glow of individual candles through the lower windows. His stomach fluttered nervously as Gaston knocked on the door.

The door was opened, almost immediately, by a liveried footman, who raised an eyebrow and looked sharply at Gaston. "Yes?"

Gaston took a deep breath and replied in impeccable English. "I apologise for our appearance. We have travelled from France on behalf of the Marquis de Saint-Clair. We wish to see His Grace, the Duke of Avesbury immediately. We have an important message for him."

The footman looked supremely uninterested, however he opened the door fully and ushered them inside. "Please wait here," he intoned and disappeared.

Remy surveyed the impressive hallway curiously. It was bright with many candles and lamps making the marble floor gleam. Elegant red satin chairs were placed at intervals along the wall and on the opposite wall there hung a large gilt-framed portrait. Remy was just moving forward for a closer look when Gaston gripped his arm, and he noticed that they had been joined by a dignified butler.

Gaston opened his mouth to speak, but the butler merely took one look at Remy and nodded his head. "Ah yes. You are late. Follow me." He turned, and began to swiftly mount a wide marble staircase. Gaston gave Remy an astonished glance and then followed.

Remy in his turn followed Gaston, and when on the second floor, the butler swung open a door, behind which he could hear the din of many voices, and motioned them inside, he slammed into Gaston's back as the other man stopped abruptly in the doorway. Before Remy had any chance to see what was happening in the room, Gaston had turned and firmly pushed him back into the hallway. Gaston grasped the door and pulled it shut and then turned to face the butler.

" _Ca alors_! How dare you!" Remy could hear Gaston's voice shaking with rage.

"I beg your pardon?" the butler replied, loftily.

Gaston visibly calmed himself. "I believe there has been some mistake. I am the agent of the Marquis de Saint-Clair. This is his son." He gestured to Remy. "The Marquis has sent his son to his old friend the Duke of Avesbury for safekeeping. I was under the impression this was the Duke's house."

The butler had paled slightly, but maintained his dignified demeanour. "I apologise, Sir. This is indeed the Duke's house. I will take you to another saloon and inform His Grace of your arrival." The butler was already moving to the stairs and took them up another flight as he spoke. He flung open a door and ushered them into a small parlour where there was a fire burning cheerfully. "Perhaps, you require some refreshment while you wait?"

"Yes," Gaston was still straining to hold his temper.

"I will send some wine," and the butler was gone.

"Gaston," Remy immediately exclaimed. "What happened? What was in that room?"

"This must be some mistake," Gaston ignored him, and was speaking to himself. "Your father would never…" He broke off as the door opened and a footman entered bearing a tray with two glasses of wine. He handed them each a glass and noiselessly departed.

"Gaston," Remy tried again. "Tell me what is going on."

Gaston's face was a picture of worried anxiety when he finally turned to face Remy. "Have patience, _milor'_. Gaston will sort it out."

"What…?"

The door opened, and the butler once more entered the room and spoke to Gaston. "His Grace will see you in his study immediately."

Gaston turned to Remy. "Do not leave this room, _milor'_." Then he followed the butler, and Remy was left alone.

* * *

It was more than half an hour before Gaston returned. At first Remy glared irritably into the fire, feeling his annoyance with Gaston, but he had promised his father that he would obey the agent as he would his Papa, so he calmed himself and sipped his wine. He could not help speculating on what Gaston had glimpsed in the other room that should so upset him. There had been a lot of noise to be sure, but it had been the noise of a social gathering, and Remy was sure he had heard the soft strains of music beneath the din. Why would such a gathering anger Gaston? He could not come close to an answer, so he shrugged his shoulders in frustration and turned his attention to his surroundings.

This was a small saloon, elegantly and richly furnished. The floor was carpeted with a large oriental and the chairs and sofas were covered luxuriously in velvet. Some good pieces of porcelain were scattered artistically on polished small-tables, but still the effect was a masculine one. Remy could see the lack of the presence of a woman in the household, but had just decided that he admired the taste of his protector, when his father's agent returned to the room.

"Please follow, _milor_ '." Gaston held out his hand. "The Duke has given me the direction to an hotel and provided us with a carriage."

"We are not to stay here?" Remy was stunned.

Gaston's lips compressed firmly before he spoke. "Definitely not, _milor'_ ," he answered shortly and strode from the room.

Remy followed him down the stairs and back out into the street, where a crested carriage awaited them. Once in the carriage, he tried to question Gaston again but the only reply he received was a firm, "Not here, _milor'_."

This response again annoyed Remy, but he reminded himself once more that his Papa had ordered him to obey Gaston completely, so he remained silent.

After a short drive they reached the hotel. This was a very splendid establishment, and at first the manager was inclined to look askance at Gaston and Remy, who were still dressed in their peasant costumes. However, one look at the distinctively liveried footman who accompanied them seemed to reassure him and in a remarkably short time they found themselves escorted into a comfortable and elegant suite of rooms.

As soon as they were alone Remy confronted Gaston. "Enough evasion. What is going on?"

Gaston sighed. " _Milor'_ , I cannot tell you what was happening in that house. I was offered no explanation by His Grace. I gave him your father's letter and the documents. He read them, signed them and then gave me a series of orders. That was the extent of my conversation with him."

"He did not wish to see me?" Remy asked, doubtfully.

"No _milor'_ ," Gaston shuddered slightly. "I am now, perhaps, thankful." He looked at Remy and the doubt was obvious in his eyes. "I think he has changed a lot since your father knew him."

This was such an echo of Timothy's statements that Remy was for a moment completely taken aback. Before he could say anything however, Gaston continued.

"I confess it places us in an awkward position. However this was your father's wish and the Duke did assure me of his protection. I believe you will be safe with him, _milor'_."

Remy was sure that Gaston was withholding some concerns but knew that the agent would not confide them. Once again he felt he was being treated like an infant and the thought irritated him. "No one tells me anything. I am sick of being treated like a child," he chewed his bottom lip in frustration, "Can you at least tell me what his ' _orders_ ' were?"

"Yes _milor_ '. Tomorrow morning we are to procure some more appropriate apparel." Gaston smiled at him. "You cannot continue to look like a peasant, _milor_ '. Then in the afternoon I am to take you to His Grace's country estate. You are to stay there. After that I must return to your father in Paris."

* * *

The journey to the Duke's estate took only the afternoon, as Avesbury was not far from London. The weather had cleared in the early morning, and Remy was able to enjoy his first view of the English countryside, and although his heart longed for home he thought it very beautiful. The landscape, once they left London, was sparkling from the rain overnight and was refreshing and green. The sky was a clear azure blue, he could smell the fresh scents of the countryside through the carriage window, and his spirits could not help but rise.

His first sight of the ducal palace came after a lengthy drive through expansive parkland, and Remy found it very impressive. The house sprawled haphazardly in elegant formal gardens and was mainly built in mellow stonework, which glowed warmly in the afternoon sun. It looked very welcoming and the housekeeper, who descended the stairs at the approach of the carriage, read the Duke's letter, and then greeted Remy with kind enthusiasm.

"Well, I must say young sir, this is quite a surprise but then I guess I shouldn't be surprised at anything the Duke chooses to do. He's always been one for going his own way, if I do say so meself. Anyways, I'm mighty glad to see you here; some young company around the house would be very pleasant. French it says in the letter. Well I do hope you speak English as I don't know a word of _that_ language."

The housekeeper paused to take breath, and Remy was able to manage a nod and a quick, "Yes Madame, I do speak English."

"Very good, young sir, very good, and what an attractive accent you have. I can easily understand you. Well I'm Mrs Ransome, been housekeeper to the Duke for nigh on ten years now and while it's had it's moments, all in all he's a good master. I couldn't wish for better. I suppose you're tired and hungry and here we are dilly-dallying on the stairs. Come inside, come inside."

Remy directed one amused glance at a stupefied Gaston and followed the still talking housekeeper into the house. The hall they found themselves in was large with a vaulted ceiling, the walls panelled in dark wood. It seemed slightly gloomy after the sunshine outside and before Remy's eyes could adjust the housekeeper had led them into a large saloon. This room was bright and airy, wide windows opening onto a terrace with an enticing view out into the gardens. In a large, marble fireplace a cheerful fire burned to offset the cooling afternoon. Elegant chairs and sofas, covered in pale blue and straw satin, were gracefully scattered around the area, and there were tables and cabinets polished to gleaming splendour. Like the saloon in Grosvenor Square, Remy could see the purely masculine influence in the style of the room and he found it very attractive.

"Well here you are. I'll send in some refreshment while I organise a room for you and see to the direction of your luggage. I see you don't have a valet but I'm sure I can arrange one of the younger footmen to serve you. Dinner will be served at six o'clock, we keep country hours when His Grace is not in residence."

Still speaking she exited the room, and Remy sank onto a sofa and heaved a sigh. "So the journey is over, Gaston."

"Yes, _milor_." Gaston agreed. "I think you will be very comfortable here."

"I would be more comfortable with my parents," Remy replied softly but Gaston did not reply and they continued to sit in companionable silence, each lost to their own thoughts.

At six they were served an excellent and delicious dinner in a magnificently furnished but still comfortable dining room. Remy was tired and after the meal asked to be escorted to his room so that he could retire for the night. Again the bedchamber he was allotted was decorated in the latest style and Remy concluded that the Duke spared no expense in insuring his own comfort, and that of any guests.

The next morning after breakfast, came his parting with Gaston. This was distressing, Remy had known Gaston all his life, and the agent was his last link to home and his parents. He charged the agent with many loving messages for his Papa and Maman, and when Gaston mounted his horse to leave, discovered there were tears pouring down his cheeks. Mrs Ransome gathered him up and though he felt like a baby for his break down, he appreciated her comfort.


	4. The Rake!

The days flew by, and a week found Remy so settled at Avesbury that he almost felt like he had always lived there. He thoroughly explored the rambling house and that alone took a couple of days, it was much larger than his own family estate. Some parts of it were obviously unused, however it was equally obvious that an army of servants maintained the house in constant readiness for a large number of people. Mrs Ransome told him that the Duke had a habit of descending without notice, and usually with a party of friends. Although she mentioned, regarding him thoughtfully, that she figured he wouldn't be likely to do that now. She then added that while she didn't always approve of the Duke's gatherings, he was a very kind and generous master, she was very fond of him, and it wasn't her place to judge him anyway. She didn't explain further, and Remy added this comment to the collection of incomprehensible statements he had already heard regarding the Duke.

He couldn't help speculating on the character of the man who had shared his father's youth. Every comment he heard, and the incident at Grosvenor Square, added to the mystery, and while he was extremely curious to meet the Duke, he wondered very much how he would react if he did. It seemed that the man his father had known, perhaps no longer existed. Would his father have retained his friendship with the man if had been aware of this? In the end, the only conclusion that Remy could make regarding the Duke was that he admired the man's taste.

The weather remained fine, summer heralding its approach with a glorious spring, and Remy spent a lot of time wandering in the lovely gardens and riding in the park. The Duke kept an impressive stable and Remy was given a choice of excellent mounts to exercise. Riding was a pastime he had always enjoyed and he indulged himself fully now. Another pastime he was introduced to was the English one of fishing. The park boasted a fine lake, full of trout, and while he found the fishing tedious, he did enjoy the lake and consequently spent much time on its shores.

His evenings he spent mostly in the Duke's large and well-stocked library. This was another comfortable room and he found many new and interesting books to read, another pastime he had always enjoyed.

Although Remy, as his parent's sole offspring, had always been a self-sufficient soul, he now found himself experiencing a strong sense of isolation and loneliness. In Paris he had always been surrounded with many friends and he missed his closest friend, Paul, in particular. Concern for the safety of his friends was insignificant compared to the ever-present anxiety he suffered regarding his parents. It was frustrating to have no news of Paris and the Revolution, and there were times when he could not distract himself from his miserable thoughts on those subjects.

So when at the end of the week Timothy turned up, Remy was overjoyed.

"Timothy!" Remy reached the young man just as he slid off his horse and gripped his hand warmly. "I am so happy to see you."

"Hello Remy," the courier grinned at him. "I thought you might be here. I'm on my way to London but I just thought I'd stop here for a half hour, just on the off chance."

Remy had spotted the young courier as he rode along the drive and they now turned into the park and strolled through the trees, Timothy leading his horse.

"So, how did you go in London with the Duke?" Timothy asked.

"I did not meet him," Remy replied, frowning. "We arrived at Grosvenor Square and the butler was taking us to the Duke, but Gaston stopped in the doorway and would not let me enter. He was very angry about something, but to me it only sounded like a party of friends. We did not even stay in the house, after Gaston saw the Duke we went to the hotel. The next day we came here and I've been here ever since. Timothy," he looked up at the other young man, with his best beguiling expression. "What was happening in that room? Why would Gaston be so upset?"

Timothy frowned but his eyes held a twinkle of amusement. "I'm thinking Gaston didn't tell you?"

"Of course not," Remy sighed in frustration. "He still thinks of me as _un petit enfant_. But I would like to know."

Timothy smiled slightly, and then shook his head. "It's nothing for you to worry about," was his response.

" _Tant pis_!" Remy's expression was a picture of annoyed resignation. "I knew you would say that."

"I don't know why you asked me then," the courier's eyes were sparkling with humour, and Remy could not help laughing.

"So what have you been doing?" he asked.

"I've been in Brighton, on some business for the Duke, and now I'm on my way to him. I have a feeling I'll be sent back to Brighton fairly quickly. The Prince is there at the moment you see."

"You have met the Prince?"

"Yes," Timothy nodded. "I often carry messages to him from the Duke."

"They are friends?"

"His Grace is one of the Prince's advisors." His eyes sparkled at Remy again. "You're very curious about the Duke."

" _C'est vrai_ ," Remy replied defensively. "He was a friend of my Papa, I have never seen him. It is only natural I should be curious."

"Of course," was Timothy's solemn reply.

Remy laughed again. "I think you tease me now."

"Of course," Timothy twinkled at him, and then he glanced around the park. "How have you been finding it here? Do you like it?"

" _Oui_ , I like it well enough, but I miss my friends… and my parents. I wonder…" he looked at Timothy with an anxious expression. "Have you heard any news of Paris?"

"Yes I have," Timothy glanced at Remy doubtfully, and Remy was positive the courier was unsure of how much to tell him.

"I am not a child," he spoke softly and firmly. "I need to know, you can tell me."

"No, you're not a child," Timothy agreed quickly. "All right, but you're not going to like it. They've started imprisoning ' _enemies of the revolution_ '. Basically that's aristocrats," he added bluntly.

Remy gasped and paled. Timothy gripped his arm and swore to himself. It was obvious he had been too blunt. "I'm sorry Remy, I should've been more careful how I told you."

" _Non_ ," Remy caught his breath. "But my parents?" He blinked at Timothy in distress and felt the courier slip an arm around his waist.

"I've heard no names, Remy, it's too soon. But your father is still a powerful man. They've probably left him alone."

"That could also make them more likely to take him," Remy was slightly calmer now, but he moved closer to the comforting presence of Timothy and rested his head on the young man's shoulder. "And my mother was ill, she would not survive in prison." His voice broke on the last words, and Timothy's arms embraced him more firmly.

"You shouldn't think the worst, Remy," the courier replied. "I know it's hard, but I'm sure they'll be all right. There are still many escape routes out of France. They could even be already on their way."

Remy sighed softly against Timothy's shoulder. " _Merci mille fois_ … you are kind but…"

He felt Timothy's hand under his chin and he lifted his head to find Timothy's warm eyes gazing into his own. "It's not hard to be kind to you, Remy," the courier spoke, and then Remy felt soft lips brush his own. For a moment the kiss held, and then Timothy stepped back abruptly.

"I'm sorry. I… uh… lost my head for a second. I shouldn't have done that."

"Why not?" Remy was puzzled. "You are my friend, why should not friends kiss? My friend Paul used to like to kiss me a lot."

Timothy broke into laughter. "I bet he did." Then the courier grew serious. "But I really shouldn't have done it, I know you're father wouldn't approve, and I … well, I'm already…" He blushed and shook his head. "I don't know what I was thinking. I'm sorry."

Remy shrugged his shoulders. "Do not be concerned, Timothy. There is no need to apologise. It does not matter."

Timothy smiled and then gazed at Remy intently. "It doesn't bother you that another male kissed you?"

" _Non_ , as I told you, my friends and I often kissed, and Paul…" here he broke off and blushed slightly "… no, it doesn't bother me."

Timothy was still watching his face and Remy felt himself redden further at the close scrutiny. Then Timothy smiled ruefully. "God, if the Duke should see you."

"I do not think he will," Remy replied seriously. "He does not seem to want to."

Timothy laughed at him, which he thought very strange.

* * *

Another week went by in a haze of glorious weather, days spent riding in the park and lazing by the lake, and evenings spent reading books in the library.

Remy tried hard not to think too much about the news Timothy had told him, but at night after he was in bed the phrase ' _imprisoning enemies of the revolution_ ' would repeat over and over in his mind. He lost some of his appetite, much to Mrs Ransome's distress, and there were times when he felt listless and depressed.

Once such time grew upon him one afternoon as he dozed by the lake. He was sprawled on the grass under the trees, and could find no enjoyment in the sound of the breeze, or the fresh scent of the grass. A sense of desperation was creeping over him. Why was he here when his parents were in danger? Why had his father sent him away, like a baby, to be kept safe? He was so caught up in his bitter thoughts that he did not hear the sound of hoof beats on the grass or the soft thud of feet landing near him.

"Well, what do we have here?"

At the sound of the soft, drawling voice, Remy started and leapt to his feet. He found himself confronted with a tall man, the reins of a magnificent bay horse dangling carelessly from his gloved hands. The man was broad shouldered and, by his powerful frame, obviously a sportsman. He was fashionably dressed for riding, and his long brown hair was elegantly styled and then pulled into a confining riband. He was smiling, but the handsome features still seemed harsh and his dark brown eyes glittered coldly.

Those eyes swept over Remy's face and form, then he dropped the reins and moved slightly closer and Remy noticed the charming smile did not reach his eyes. "I do believe I've found a gift from heaven."

Remy took a swift step back, but the man's hand shot out and grasped his own firmly.

"No, don't run away."

Something about the velvet, drawl of the man's voice sent a shiver along Remy's spine and he noticed the other's smile widen. He tried to pull his hand away, but the man tightened his grip and then reached out his other hand and Remy felt a strong hand resting on his waist.

"Oh, you are delicious. Who sent you to me? I'm positive I now owe whoever it was a very large favour."

The man was practically purring at him now, and Remy began to panic at the man's strange behaviour. He had never experienced anything like this in his life, he knew he should be angry at the man's disrespect but he couldn't seem to react at all. He was mesmerised, and was struggling to breathe through the pounding of his heart. The man stepped closer again, raised his hand from Remy's waist, and Remy felt a gloved finger rest against his lips. He blinked at the man in confusion.

"Do you speak? Or are these lovely lips only for kissing?"

At these words, Remy's face flamed to a burning red, he heard the man laugh softly and saw the dark head bend closer to his own, and then finally, he found his voice. "Let go of me!" he gasped, and was immediately disappointed at the breathless quality of his voice. "You are on the Duke of Avesbury's estate."

The man frowned at him in puzzlement. "So?"

"Well, for one thing, you are trespassing."

"I am? Well, so are you."

"I am not." Remy was indignant. "I live here."

"That's a bit presumptuous of you, don't you think?" The man smirked at him.

" _Salaud_!" Remy once more attempted to pull his hand from the other's grip.

"That's rather impolite. I gather you're French. Why are you here?"

"My father sent me," Remy responded through gritted teeth.

His hand was dropped abruptly, and he took a quick step back from the man, who now stood gazing at him in consternation.

"Your father," he frowned, and Remy found the expression rather forbidding. "What is your name?" he rapped out.

"Remy Saint-Clair. My father is the Marquis de Saint-Clair."

"I see," the man's response was curt, and then he swiftly moved back to his horse and mounted. Without another word he began to ride away.

"Hey!" Remy yelled after him, indignantly. "I do not know _your_ name."

"You will." The reply came back to him.


	5. The Friends!

The Most Noble Justin Vernon Audley, Seventh Duke of Avesbury, rode through the parkland towards his ducal palace, in a state of absolute fury. How could he have been so stupid as to forget the French brat that Saint-Clair had foisted upon him? He slapped his leg violently, and then spent a moment bringing his horse back under control as the highly-strung animal shied nervously. Once the horse had quietened, he dismounted. He would have to decide what to do about this situation, and before he reached the house and had to face the friends who would be shortly arriving. And especially before he faced Sanford.

Upon nearing his home, the Duke had felt the need for solitude and had left the long drive and ridden ahead through the parkland intending to give his household some warning of his guests approach. Then he had reached the lake, and had been confronted with one of the loveliest visions he had seen in a long time. A youth was sprawled, in unconscious sensual abandon, on the grass ahead of him. At first, he had only seen the body, in fitted rusty brown breeches and a loose, white shirt, which had ridden up to the boy's waist. The form was slender, but he could tell firm, the legs and thighs lightly muscled, hips narrow, and though he could not see it, he knew the boy's arse would make his mouth water. Closer still, and he could see a mane of red-gold hair flowing onto the grass. It looked like silk, and he had a sudden urge to run his hands through it. He was surprised at his intense reaction to the boy; he hadn't felt this powerful a surge of instant lust in a long time. Not even when he had first met Sanford, and his interest in his current lover had been strong enough that he was still with him after three months.

Then he had seen the face, and had stopped his horse so he could look his fill. The features were fine and lovely, the reddish brows straight and elegant, long dark lashes resting on pale, sculpted cheeks. A straight nose, and then the lips. Rosy, looking velvet soft, beautifully shaped, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the top, perfect for kissing. And this exquisite face, rested atop a finely arched, creamy throat that he'd longed to run his teeth over. He had shifted in his saddle, as he'd felt himself harden in his riding breeches. All that had remained to be seen was the eyes and, he'd decided, by God, that he was going to see them. He'd slid to the ground and taken a step closer.

At his first words, the boy had leapt to his feet, every movement an expression of grace and beauty. And then he had found himself gazing into, wide, guileless, storm-grey eyes, and for a moment he almost forgot where he was, who he was. Then the cynical part of his mind took over, and he had to wonder how this fascinating creature had found its way onto his estate.

He began the hunt, and the boy's reaction to him was perfect. He had obviously been trained extremely well. When he rested his finger against those soft lips, the boy's blush was so natural that his admiration for the boy's talent almost exceeded his lust. And then just as he was about to possess that tempting, decadent mouth, the boy broke the rules of the game, and spoke. The conversation that had followed, while at first amusing, had eventually dealt the Duke the most levelling blow he had experienced in a long time.

The boy was the son of Dominic Saint-Clair and his wife, Marguerite, and perhaps even more levelling, his innocent sensuality was not a trained talent, but was in fact, natural. He wasn't sure if he should be pleased, or furious.

The Duke paced the grass beside his horse, and tried to calmly examine this situation, but visions of the boy kept rising in his mind and distracting him. Now that he thought about it, he could see the resemblance to Marguerite, the Marguerite of his memory anyway. And even though his memory was faded, he rather felt that the son had something the mother had never had. Marguerite's beauty had been coldly perfect; the son's was something warmer. He, an expert in such things, could see the potential for passion in the boy that he had not been able to see in the woman. He found himself wishing he could be the one to draw that passion out, and then kicked himself for a fool. Unfortunately he was the boy's protector, which included the responsibility of protecting him from seducers such as himself. He grimaced at the irony of that thought.

He thought again of Marguerite, and found himself astonished at the sentimentality of the French, that they should send their son to him on the remembrance of his foolish infatuation for the mother. The only time he had felt any interest in a woman, he smirked to himself, and look what it got him. The burden of a French brat, not even his own. He remembered that it had been no hardship, to step back in favour of Dominic. He had, in fact already moved on, and begun an affair with that friend they'd had… what was his name?… ah yes, Jean Pierre. Really, he had some very fond memories of Jean Pierre.

 _Still_ , he thought as he remounted his horse, _this reminiscing is not getting me anywhere. And I suppose with the revolution they had nowhere else to send the boy. What I'll have to do is explain the situation to my guests, and Sanford, and then I suppose I'll have to face… what was it?… Remy, again._

* * *

When the Duke finally reached his house he found that most of his guests had already arrived. Only the Earl of Huntingdon had still not made an appearance, and the Duke decided to wait until all were assembled in the drawing room before he announced the change in plans. As he dismounted, Sanford strode towards him.

"Justin! What happened to you? We had thought you got lost in your own park!"

The Duke grimaced at his lover, and forbore to mention that he very nearly had. At that moment, the Earl's carriage pulled up and he was saved from answering, as he moved forward to greet his closest friend.

Eventually the crowd moved into the house, and refreshments were supplied in the large drawing room. The Duke managed to inform his housekeeper, in a quiet aside, that if his young French guest returned, he was not to be admitted to the drawing room until the Duke sent for him. Mrs Ransome simply nodded sagely, and departed to direct the allotment of rooms, and the delivery of luggage.

It was not as large a party as some had been in the past, but it was obviously meant to be an intimate one. The Duke was accompanied by his lover, Viscount Sanford. His other guests included his close friend the Earl of Huntingdon, and the other members of his innermost circle. Viscount Desford and the young Lord Henley were sprawled together on one of the straw-satin sofas in the drawing room. Near the fireplace, sipping burgundy, stood five very elegant gentlemen, Lord Beaumont, the Hon. Lucas Bedford, Sir Richard Westcott, Viscount Ashford and the Hon. Marcus Sale. Everyone appeared in high spirits and loud laughter filled the air as the Duke entered the room.

The Duke cleared his throat slightly and instantly all eyes were upon him. "I'm afraid there will be a slight change of plans. It would be best if we only stay here a short time. However, we need not break up the party. I have a hunting lodge in the next county, and I am sending some servants over to prepare it. It should be ready in a couple of days, and I thought we could go there at the end of the week."

There was a moment of silence and then Sanford spoke, "Why is this, Justin? Is there something wrong?"

"No, nothing," the Duke replied. "I merely forgot that I have a young French boy staying here." At his lover's frown, he immediately added. "He is the son of a French aristocrat, who I was close with in my youth. His parents sent him to me to escape the revolution."

"Well, he can just stay in the schoolroom, can't he?" Bedford asked.

"He's a bit old for the schoolroom," the Duke replied. "I believe he's about sixteen."

There was a chorus of amused laughter. "Well, the more the merrier, Justin. I think I speak for us all?" Sir Richard glanced around the room and the other men nodded.

"Particularly if the father was a friend of yours in your wild youth, Justin," Ashford spoke, and more laughter rang through the room.

The Duke frowned.

"What is the problem, Justin?" The Earl of Huntingdon's voice rose through the din, and silence fell again.

"It seems the boy is practically my ward, Gareth." The Duke responded. "I promised the father my protection," he ignored the snicker which came from Sanford's direction, but his voice grew firm and his face settled into a severe frown. "It's an obligation I intend to take seriously, so when the boy is in our presence, I'll thank you all to observe your best society manners." He glared at the group in front of the fireplace. "I know you're all damned well capable of it. At the end of the week we'll leave and you can all revert to the sad rattles that you truly are."

Another round of laughter rang out, and then the Earl rose from his seat. "Very well, Justin," he smiled. "We will behave ourselves with your brat. Now I think I will retire and prepare for what, I imagine, will be a very restrained dinner."

As the last of his friends left the room, the Duke rang the bell and requested that Remy be sent to him.


	6. The Confrontation!

As the figure on horseback disappeared into the trees, Remy slumped to the ground in a state of breathless shock. He really didn't know what to think, never in his wildest dreams had he ever imagined being accosted like that. The man was obviously not a ruffian, and Remy had the distinct impression that the man also knew the Duke. His last words had made that certain in fact, and Remy wasn't sure how he should react if they met again.

He wasn't sure of his reaction now. He had a feeling that he should be furiously angry, but while he was affronted at the man's behaviour, there were other feelings coursing through him that weren't so familiar. One thing was clear though. The man had been about to kiss him. And it wasn't going to be a kiss between friends.

Remy was aware of the nature of intimate relations between men and women. One of his cousins had once explained it to him in excruciating and sickening detail. Of course he had only been thirteen then, now he was older he had more understanding. Girls had even kissed him. It had always been a slight embarrassment to him, that he was very popular with the young ladies of his acquaintance, and his friends had teased him about it often, but it had certainly had its advantages. Although he couldn't really see what all the fuss was about, it was really no more exciting than any of the kisses he shared with all his friends.

Lately he had become aware that some of the boys he knew sometimes carried those friendly kisses further. He had once caught a glimpse of his friends, Henri and Jean, kissing hungrily, and with an excitement he had certainly never experienced, and had found himself quite breathless as he watched them. Then one day he had kissed Paul, and suddenly the other boy's tongue had been in his mouth. It had seemed quite strange at first, kissing like that with a boy instead of a girl, but very soon he had felt that breathless feeling again, and the next thing he knew he was hard between his legs. Unfortunately, just at that moment they had been interrupted, and Remy had left Paris before seeing Paul again. But late at night in his bed, he had relived that kiss often.

Now he realized that the sensations he was feeling were very similar to the one's he had experienced with Paul, only there was a sort of nervous distress added to the mix. He sensed that he had narrowly avoided experiencing something far beyond the arousal he had felt at that time, and he wasn't sure he was ready for that. He decided quite firmly, that he definitely did not want to see that man again.

It was strange though, how the man's behaviour had changed so abruptly. After he had found out who Remy's father was he had become severe, even forbidding. The situation could be very embarrassing if the man was a friend of his father's.

At this point in his thoughts, Remy realized that it was coming close to the time for dinner, and feeling calmer, rose to his feet to return to the house. When he got to the drive he saw the carriages in front of the house and the servants lifting down the luggage, and stopped in stupefaction. This could only mean one thing. The Duke had arrived, and it was quite possible that the strange man was one of his guests.

Well, Remy took a deep breath and squared his shoulders, he would just have to face it. And now his curiosity about the Duke would finally be satisfied. When he reached the hall, Mrs Ransome bustled to him through the commotion and informed him that the Duke wished to see him in the Drawing Room, immediately.

* * *

Remy returned to a state of breathless shock when he opened the door to the Drawing Room and was confronted with the strange man from the park. He glanced swiftly around the room in search of another person, and then shifted nervously as he realized, with stunning clarity, just who this man actually was. When the man spoke, his words confirmed it.

"Good evening, Remy. Allow me to introduce myself, I am the Duke of Avesbury."

He felt his hand once more clasped in that strong hand, however this time the grip was light and formal, and his hand was quickly released. When he looked up into the stern, handsome face, the brown eyes were disinterested and detached. The man waited for a moment and then raised an eyebrow, and Remy belatedly remembered his manners and stammered out, "G...Good evening, _Monseigneur_."

"I hope you have been enjoying your stay here." The Duke smiled at him urbanely and then continued, "I have arrived today, with a few friends, for a short stay. We would be honoured with your company at dinner."

"Of course," was the only thing Remy could think of to say, and he was aware that it was not the most polite reply. He couldn't understand what was going on, the man was acting as if they had never met before. "Um… in the park…" he began, but halted abruptly at the other man's frown.

"Ah! I think it best if we forget what happened in the park and start afresh. Though I suppose I owe you an apology. I am afraid, that occasionally I forget myself." _Particularly when confronted with visions like this_ , the Duke thought as he watched Remy's expressive features. He was rather dismayed to realize that his reaction to the boy was still very strong, and he moved back towards the fireplace.

"Is it because you are a rake?"

For a moment the Duke was not sure he had heard correctly, and then cold fury swept through him. He stepped forward, clenching his fists, but stopped when he saw the expression on Remy's face. The boy obviously had no idea what he was talking about. And in a way, he had to admit, he deserved it.

So he asked mildly, "What exactly do you mean by that, Remy?"

Remy flinched at the hard note in the Duke's voice and the nervousness which had led him to utter the first thing that came into his mind increased. It was obvious that in repeating the remark he had heard from Timothy he had made some sort of error. "Uh… I heard it once… _Pardon_ … I am not sure… I always thought a rake was a gardening tool, but my English… " He trailed off lamely.

He was rewarded with a cold smile. "I think it would be best, Remy, if you only spoke of rake's when discussing garden tools. I would advise you to forget that you had ever heard any other use for the word."

" _Oui, Monseigneur_."

"Now I believe you had best prepare for dinner."

It was obviously a dismissal, and Remy was relieved. He nodded his head and turned to leave the room, his thoughts in a whirl. The meeting had not gone well at all, and in future he would follow the Duke's example, and pretend that the incident in the park had never happened. Indeed he wondered if he had been right in thinking the man had been about to kiss him, he now seemed so coldly disinterested. He felt that the Duke didn't like him very much and that he was annoyed at Remy's presence in his house, and he fervently hoped that the other guests would be more friendly.

The Duke watched Remy cross the room and automatically found himself admiring the graceful movements of the slender form. He had a sinking feeling that increased exposure to the boy was only going to fuel his attraction further, and he would have to be very careful to curb his predatory instincts, as well as keeping an eye on the behaviour of his friends. This was not a role that he was suited for and he wasn't exactly sure how he would get through the next week, but there was one thing he knew for certain, he noted wryly, Remy's arse definitely made his mouth water.


	7. The Jealous Lover!

The Duke knew immediately when Remy entered the drawing room. He was standing near a window with the Earl, facing away from the room when a sudden silence fell, and he looked, with amusement, at the stunned expression on the Earl's face. He heard a whispered, " _Good Lord!_ " from somewhere in the room, and then Gareth's eyes met his.

"You bastard, Justin. You could at least have warned us!"

The Duke smiled at the Earl ruefully, turned and found his breath quite literally swept away. Remy was still standing in the doorway, a vision in grey with fine gold lacing, looking shy and uncertain at the quiet that had greeted his arrival. His long hair was now swept back in the usual fashion and it made his wide eyes seem larger. As the Duke felt the unmistakable signs of arousal beginning a slow burn in his body, he began to doubt the wisdom of staying for even one day, and staying for a week seemed extremely foolish. And when he met the cold fury in Sanford's eyes, he knew he had made a terrible mistake.

"Ah! There you are, Remy," the Duke moved towards his young guest smoothly. "Allow me to make you known to the company." He guided Remy through a lengthy round of introductions, with an amused smile. His friends were still in a state of stunned amazement, and even Desford and Henley were distracted enough from each other to gape slightly at the picture before them. Feeling that Remy would be safest for the moment with the two lovers, he returned to the Earl, where they were immediately joined by Bedford and Sanford.

Sanford was still scowling, but Bedford winked at the Duke and said, "I'm glad you didn't keep him in the schoolroom, Justin. Are you sure we can only stay until the end of the week?"

The Earl laughed, but the Duke glared at the young man. "Just remember, I expect the best of behaviour from all of you."

"Oh, it's obvious he's an innocent," the Earl assured him. "Jokes aside," he frowned slightly at Bedford, "he'll be left alone."

"So my Lord," Sanford finally spoke. "Does this stricture on behaviour apply to your own as well?"

From behind Sanford the Earl grimaced at the Duke and raised an eyebrow, warning him of the potential danger in Sanford's question. The warning was not needed, the Duke was well aware of the care he would have to take with his lover.

"Of course," he replied blandly, and then lowered his tone intimately. "But not when I'm with you."

Sanford smiled, and the Duke knew he had successfully allayed his lover's jealousy for the moment, but he found himself wondering, not for the first time, how much longer he would want to. He was under no illusions about his feelings for Sanford, or Sanford's feelings for him. They shared a mutual lust and passion, and he knew that Sanford enjoyed the standing of being the lover of the Duke of Avesbury, even if the association could not be publicly acknowledged. And the Duke enjoyed the standing of having one of England's loveliest men as his lover.

For Sanford _was_ lovely. A graceful figure, aristocratic features, glowing-gold hair, crystalline blue eyes, and well aware of his attractions. As Remy wasn't, the Duke speculated, and found his eyes drifting towards the boy and beginning a mental comparison. Remy's beauty was perhaps not as showy as Sanford's looks, which would probably fade as he got older, but it was vibrant with something more than just his physical appearance. But the greatest difference was in Remy's unconscious and natural sensuality. This was the quality that had his friends watching Remy breathlessly, whilst at the same time respecting his innocence. The Duke could see why Sanford felt threatened.

His reverie was interrupted by a question from Lord Beaumont. "Justin, is Timothy around the estate at the moment? I would like to see him."

The Duke was well aware of Beaumont's interest in his courier, but was surprised when Remy's voice rose to answer his question.

" _Non_ Milord, he was here last week but he is gone now."

"Oh, so you know young Timothy do you?" Beaumont asked.

"Yes Milord. I have met him. I like him very much."

"Do you?" Beaumont raised an eyebrow in the Duke's direction.

"Yes," Remy's eyes lowered. "He tells me news of Paris."

There was a moment of awkward silence, and then Beaumont sat down beside Remy and patted his hand gently. "Yes, it must be hard for you," he said softly. "I have a courier due from Paris in a couple of days time. I will make sure he gives you any information he has."

Remy's grey eyes gazed gratefully at the other man. " _Merci mille fois_ , Milord. I would appreciate that very much."

The butler entered the room at this moment and announced dinner, and Remy felt Beaumont's hand on his elbow as they walked into the dining room. He was guided to a seat between Beaumont and the Earl of Huntingdon, to whom he had not yet spoken, and he felt his shyness returning. However, by the end of the meal he had become involved in a lengthy discussion about horses with Lord Beaumont and the Earl, and was feeling much more comfortable. Remy decided that he liked Beaumont, particularly as the man seemed to be friends with Timothy also. The Earl was pleasant as well, but there was an occasional, unsettling gleam in his eye, and sometimes Remy didn't understand his sense of humour. On the whole, he decided, the Duke's friends were all very pleasant, although occasionally throughout the evening he caught Viscount Sanford watching him coldly.

* * *

"So, you did not mention the boy when we decided to come down here."

Sanford spoke as soon as the bedroom door was closed behind them. He had watched Remy most of the night, had watched him make conquests of Beaumont and Huntingdon. Worse still, he had noticed that the Duke also watched Remy. Although he made no attempt to enter into a conversation with the boy, his interest in him had been obvious, at least to Sanford. This unlooked for competition galled his pride and angered him, and he had waited impatiently for the moment when he could vent his frustrations at the Duke. So he wasted no time now.

"To tell the truth, I had forgotten his existence," this statement reassured Sanford but the Duke's next comment undid the work immediately. "I had not seen him."

"Of course," Sanford's voice was menacingly gentle. "You would not have forgotten him if you had."

The Duke had had a frustrating day and was in no mood to play games now. Sanford would have to be put in his place. "Sanford," he said wearily, as he sat down to pull off his shoes. "The boy is absolutely gorgeous. I'd have to be a blind, impotent idiot to forget him once I'd seen him. And you know I'm none of those things."

Sanford was momentarily speechless at this direct attack. "I see."

Avesbury decided to give his lover no time to think. He held out a hand as he stood and moved towards the bed. "Come here."

He saw his lover balk for a moment at the command, and smiled at him. "I'm sick of talking about the French brat. Come here."

And this time Sanford joined him, instantly parting his lips when the Duke took his mouth in a demanding and savage kiss. A thrill went through Sanford at the heat of Avesbury's passion, truth be told, while their lovemaking was always satisfying, lately it had been lacking some of the Duke's usual fire. His back hit the bed as Avesbury pushed him down, and then the Duke's hands were pulling at his clothes. When his mouth was finally released, he gasped for breath and then moaned as the Duke's teeth grazed his throat.

"Justin… please." His plea was answered quickly as he saw Avesbury reach beside the bed for the small bottle of oil. He pulled at the Duke's shirt, and gasped again when he felt the hot skin under his hands. Avesbury's eyes were darkly dilated, and he saw them impossibly blacken further when he felt the rough entrance of the Duke's fingers into his body and groaned loudly.

Then the Duke's mouth was searing wetly across his chest and sucking at a nipple, he writhed and then felt the blunt pressure where Avesbury's fingers had been a moment before. Sanford felt oddly overwhelmed, as if he couldn't quite keep up with the Duke, and was momentarily stunned when he realized that the Duke had entered him fully. But the pleasure was immediate, and he wrapped his legs around his lover's waist and hissed a pleading, "Yes… Justin…"

The Duke paused briefly after thrusting completely into his lover, and struggled to suppress the image that was rising before his eyes. For a moment it was Remy straining against him, throat arching, fine muscles trembling, and he groaned as he realized the extent to which the boy had invaded his mind in only a day. Resolutely he met Sanford's eyes and concentrated on losing himself in their blue depths as he pounded into the hot, tight body beneath him. And when he finally came, he bit his lip between his teeth until it bled, but he made no sound.


	8. The Past Love!

When Remy woke the next morning the first thought in his head was of Avesbury. The knowledge that the man he had met in the park was the Duke had changed his view of his parents and the world. This was his father's friend, and he would never have expected _his_ Papa to have such a friend. Remy had always found his father to be the epitome of dull respectability, and the Duke was completely different. He exuded raw power, and while he was obviously worldly and sophisticated, there was an aura of danger about him as well, which Remy found fascinating and distressingly exciting.

Before he had gone to sleep the night before, he had replayed the scene in the park in his mind, many times. Now he replayed it yet again, once more experiencing the flutter of arousal in his stomach. This was stronger than anything he had felt with Paul, and he wondered what his father would think if he knew the direction his son's youthful experimentation was taking. His father had recently explained to him, that young men occasionally liked to share pleasurable kisses, and that it was relatively normal to experiment in this way. He had also explained that to carry such relationships further was not socially acceptable, although most knew that some men did, albeit very discreetly. Remy had a feeling, that while his father could obviously be open minded about such behaviour, he would not approve of his son indulging in such a relationship.

Remy had never before considered such a thing, even after Paul had kissed him, even after he had witnessed the passion that his friends Henri and Jean shared. The evening before Remy, always observant, had noticed Viscount Desford's and Lord Henley's affection for one another, particularly when they had retired for the night quite early, and whilst they were discreet, he suspected they were together. It was becoming apparent to him that men could experience the same passion together as men and women could, although he couldn't quite figure out the physical logistics of it, and that they must find the experience extremely rewarding to risk so much to indulge it. And he could only assume, after the Duke's intention of kissing him the day before, that Avesbury took pleasure in such relationships himself.

Still he wasn't sure if he would have wanted that kiss to happen. While Remy did feel a thrilling, nervous tension when he thought of the incident, he also knew that he regarded Avesbury with a large amount of trepidation as well. The Duke, whilst very polite and hospitable had continued to seem cold and distant last evening, and Remy could not fathom the reason for the man's sudden change in demeanour.

He pondered this while he dressed for riding, and it was when he was about to leave his room, that he remembered the story about his mother, and his heart plummeted to his feet. Remy knew he resembled his mother; it was striking enough to be commented on regularly. Was it possible the Duke had reacted to the resemblance to a woman that he had once loved passionately? A woman who he might still love, Remy reflected, but found that this thought he could not quite reconcile with the man he had met the day before. And when Remy reached the stables and found the Duke there, about to lead out his bay stallion, he found it even more impossible.

* * *

Remy's initial rush of trepidation at seeing the man he had been thinking of all morning, dissipated slightly as he finally got a closer look at the splendid animal the Duke had been riding the day before.

"He is beautiful, _vraiment magnifique_ ," he breathed, as he neared the pair.

Avesbury turned and glanced down at Remy with a brief, tight smile. "Thank you," he answered shortly, and then frowned as he noticed Remy's attire. "You are riding?"

" _Oui_ , I take out the grey mare every morning. She is a lovely horse as well, I enjoy it very much, so I thank you for allowing me to ride her," Remy replied shyly, and then shrugged his shoulders at the Duke's curt nod. "If you prefer to ride alone I can…"

"You may ride with me," the Duke replied as he mounted his horse. "I would like to hear of your parents."

" _Tres bien, Monseigneur_ ," Remy mounted the mare the stablehand brought to him, and then followed the Duke out into the park. The other man had already moved his horse into a fast canter, and as Remy rode to catch up he found himself admiring Avesbury's riding immensely. He knew he was a very good horseman himself, as was his father, but the Duke surpassed anything he had seen before, powerful and graceful in the saddle. Eventually the Duke slowed to a walk and when Remy caught him up, he spoke.

"I have not seen your father since before you were born, though I have sometimes been in contact with him. Tell me how he has been."

Remy glanced at the handsome profile, and once more wondered that this man was his father's friend. "He has always been of good health, _Monseigneur_. We have mainly lived in Paris, although we spend some time each year at Saint-Clair. I prefer Paris," he confided. "All my friends are there, and also my _parrain_ , Jean Pierre."

"Jean Pierre?"

"Yes, do you know him?"

The Duke smiled down at him warmly. "I did know him, yes. He was at school with your father and I."

There was a moment of silence. Avesbury now seemed more approachable, and Remy felt himself becoming more comfortable with the man. Remy glanced over at the Duke again and met brown eyes which now shone with good humour. "You are fond of your godfather?"

"Oh yes," Remy smiled. "I have a lot of fun with him. He is wonderful. He is a Doctor you know, and once I remember, when I was eight, he made for me a cream, which I gave to my friends for the sunburn." He broke off and giggled. "It made their skin turn blue… it was so funny… it lasted for some days."

Remy heard a warm chuckle escape the man riding beside him, and for some reason the sound sent a deliciously nervous flutter through his stomach.

"Yes, that sounds like Jean Pierre. Some of the things he did while we were at school… we almost got expelled many times. Yes, even your father," he grinned at Remy's incredulous look. "Though he may not appreciate my telling you so."

Remy laughed, and then shook his head. "I think my father must have changed a lot. Although it is funny, that everyone kept saying to me that you were the one who must have changed."

"Indeed?"

Remy's heart sank at the cold tone from the man beside him. Obviously he had somehow said the wrong thing yet again. "Ah… yes… I mean…" he faltered, but the Duke interrupted him.

"And what of your mother?"

"She has been ill," Remy replied quietly. "But she could not travel even though Jean Pierre said she was better. I am worried about her… I wish I knew how she is now."

He felt Avesbury's eyes resting on him again, but did not look up. "I am sure your father will do all he can for her," the Duke's voice was gentle. "And Jean Pierre is there, remember."

Remy now met the Duke's eyes, and Avesbury smiled at him warmly. There was a moment of silence as they gazed at each other, and then the Duke frowned slightly and glanced away. "I think we should return to the house. My lazy guests should be ready for breakfast by now."

" _Oui_ ," Remy answered abstractedly. He had remembered his earlier thoughts about his mother and the Duke, and now glanced at the other man in speculative apprehension. "Do you think I look like my mother?" he blurted, before he could change his mind.

The Duke shifted in his saddle, and for a moment Remy thought he would canter away without answering, but then he looked down at Remy and replied seriously, "There is some resemblance, certainly. Why do you ask?"

Panic struck Remy as he realized he didn't know how to answer. He blushed furiously and stammered, "I… I heard, _Monseigneur_ … I mean… you and my mother…"

"Ah. I see," the Duke had now comprehended his embarrassed babbling, and Remy waited in terror for the snub that was sure to come for his impertinence. "How shall I say this?" Avesbury wondered to himself, and Remy was amazed at his mild tone. "Truth be told Remy, and I don't know if you'll like to hear this, but I had not thought of your mother for many years. It is true that I admired her at one time, but not seriously enough to cut your father out when he fell in love with her. I am sorry, I have a feeling that you may have been indulging in some romantic fantasy, but to be perhaps brutally honest your mother was a passing fancy only. Does that disappoint you?"

Remy saw the cold amusement in the brown eyes and reddened further as he realized his naïve foolishness at ever imagining that this man would pine for the love of anyone, let alone his Maman. He shook his head miserably and mumbled an apology.

" _Je suis vraiment desole, Monseigneur_ … I should not have…"

A gentle hand touched his chin briefly, and when he looked up he met an intent expression, which he could not fathom, on the Duke's handsome face. "Perhaps not," the look was replaced by a lazy smile. "However, I can understand how one can wonder about these things. It's probably for the best to have cleared the air. Now we have no misunderstandings between us, is that not right?"

At Remy's confused nod, the Duke smiled again and then kicked his horse to a gallop. Before Remy could draw a breath, Avesbury had disappeared over a small hill and he was left to make his way back to the stables in a state he could only describe as bewilderment.


	9. The Insult!

Remy did not see the Duke again until luncheon was served in a small dining room, and his bewilderment continued as now the man practically ignored him. He was beginning to believe that Avesbury was a man of complex and swiftly changing moods, although with his own friends he seemed to maintain a genial good humour. Remy spent the meal wondering in what way he had, this time, offended the Duke.

It was obvious he had somehow managed to offend Viscount Sanford as well. The handsome man seemed to have taken an intense dislike to him, judging by the withering glances Remy noticed being cast in his direction. All in all, he was thankful for the presence of Lord Beaumont and the Earl, as they seemed to enjoy his company. The other members of the party were also friendly although at times he could not understand their humour.

After the meal the Duke disappeared with his agent, and Remy made his way into the garden for some much needed solitude. Unfortunately, after a few minutes, to his surprise he was joined by Viscount Sanford who immediately took his arm and announced his attention of accompanying Remy in a stroll through the gardens.

"You know, I don't often get a chance to look at the gardens, but as Justin has business to attend to, I might as well take the opportunity. And it will give us the chance to have a little chat."

"It is my pleasure to walk with you, Milord," Remy replied politely.

"Of course, of course," the Viscount favoured him with a bright smile. "So how are you enjoying your stay here at Avesbury?"

"Very well, Milord. It is a lovely estate."

"Yes it is. Avesbury is the finest estate in the country, you know. I have to say, it was quite a surprise for us to find you here. Justin had forgotten all about you. It is an unfortunate habit that great man often have, they only remember the most important matters, so sometimes they can get quite a shock over something which seems to be unexpected but really isn't." The Viscount burst into laughter, and Remy glanced at the other man doubtfully, unsure whether he had just been insulted or if Sanford was joking.

" _Oui_ , Milord," he replied hesitantly. "I did not meet the Duke in London. I came here in a hurry, and so it is perhaps natural that it slipped his mind."

"Of course," the Viscount waved a hand airily. "And of course, he has not seen your father for a long time. In fact, his friends have never heard him mention your family, so after all this time I suppose the acquaintance could be called slight as well."

Remy's irritation with Sanford was now rising. He was certain that the Viscount was for some reason trying to insult and provoke him and he was determined to not let him succeed, so he merely smiled and replied, "If you say so, Milord."

The smile directed at Remy became even more forced and there was a brittle quality to Sanford's voice when he spoke again. "You know Remy, great men like Avesbury have a lot of burdens on their time. Perhaps your father was not aware of this when he sent you to him?"

Remy frowned in slight confusion, wary of what Sanford would say next. "Milord?"

"I wonder, perhaps your father has other friends in England? Can you think of any?"

"Ah. Sanford, Remy, there you are," it was the Earl of Huntingdon's voice which startled them both, and they turned to find the Earl walking up behind them. "Sanford, I have been looking for you everywhere. Justin has finished with his agent and was wondering where you had got to."

Sanford smiled brightly. "Thank you, Huntingdon," he glanced over at Remy, who was still frowning. "We should return to the house, then."

"Of course, but I was thinking I would enjoy a turn in the gardens. Perhaps you would join me Remy?" At Remy's nod he continued to Sanford, "We will follow you in later."

"Very well," the Viscount replied, and moved swiftly in the direction of the house. Once he was gone, Remy felt the Earl slip his arm through his own and then heard his amused voice.

"Calmed down yet?"

Remy glanced up in surprise at the tall man beside him, and laughed when the Earl winked at him. " _Oui_ , Milord."

"Yes, I thought it best to interfere. I suppose it would be a shame for Sanford to be injured."

Remy laughed again. "I would never…"

"Ah. But he would have deserved it," the Earl interrupted. "Still great men should only burden themselves with important matters," he confided and Remy smiled into the Earl's twinkling green eyes.

" _C'est vrai_ ," he agreed in mock seriousness, his own eyes sparkling. "But you know," he added after a moment of thought, "Perhaps the Duke does find it a burden to have me here."

"No Remy," the Earl was now completely serious. "I believe Justin only finds it an honour to help you, and your family. He takes the responsibility seriously, I assure you, and nothing Sanford says will change that."

"Viscount Sanford seems to have taken a dislike to me," Remy offered diffidently.

"I don't think you should concern yourself about Sanford," the Earl assured him. "I'll be honest with you, the man's a vain fool, but for some reason Justin likes him. Now I think we should discuss a more pleasant topic, don't you?"

Remy had to agree, and he spent the next hour in the garden telling the Earl of his journey to London and his impressions of England, discussing the political situation in France, and then was thoroughly entertained by the Earl's tales of the latest gossip of the ton and English Royalty.


	10. The Temptation!

When Remy entered the drawing room before dinner that evening he made a point of avoiding Sanford. This was easy, as the Viscount simply gave him one cold glance before turning his attention back to Sir Richard Westcott, and then Remy found Lord Beaumont at his elbow, handing him a glass of burgundy. As he talked with Beaumont, he noticed that the Duke and the Earl were both absent, and he wondered if the Duke would still ignore him as he had at luncheon.

He was soon answered, as when the Duke and the Earl entered the room they both joined he and Beaumont, and both were in good spirits. Almost immediately Sanford appeared at the Duke's side, and Remy waited to see if there would be a repeat of the Viscount's earlier snide behaviour, but it seemed Sanford was also in a genial mood and he talked with Remy quite pleasantly. Remy was quite amazed and nearly lost his composure when he met the Earl's gaze and the other man winked at him.

Once again Remy was seated between the Earl and Beaumont at dinner and so therefore was thoroughly entertained. He liked Beaumont immensely. Although much younger than his godfather, Jean Pierre, Beaumont had the same sense of fun and mischief, which Remy found very appealing. He was also becoming more comfortable with the Earl, and was amused and intrigued by his constant exchange of wit and banter with the Duke. It was obvious the two had known each other for many years, and Remy could not keep the score of who won each encounter.

There had been much humour at the other end of the table as well, for loud laughter had regularly rung out through the room from Bedford and Viscount Ashford, and when they rose from the table Remy saw that Westcott had obviously indulged in too much wine, as he was being firmly held in Ashford's arms. As they left the room, the Duke spoke to Bedford in a brief murmur, and after a quiet round of sniggering, Remy noticed that Westcott had collected himself and was walking unaided.

When they reached the drawing room Remy sat down upon a sofa with Desford and Henley, and the Earl took a chair at his side. Beaumont was talking with Avesbury and Sanford, and the other men were in a corner occasionally bursting into loud laughter. Eventually Remy saw them leave the room, and Bedford came across to the Earl.

"Gareth, we thought we'd go up to the large saloon and…" he smiled broadly at the Earl, "ah… play cards. Care to join us?"

The Earl was grinning at the other man but he shook his head. "No, not tonight Bedford. I think I'll stay here."

"Of course," Bedford smirked, and then glanced at Remy. "This room certainly has its attractions."

Remy saw the Earl frown. "Bedford…" he began, but at that moment Lord Henley spoke to Remy and when he turned back, Bedford had left the room and the Earl had moved to talk to Beaumont and Sanford. The Duke was nowhere to be seen.

The day had been a warm one and the drawing room still retained some of that heat. Remy was finding it quite stuffy, so he rose and drifted over to one of the tall windows opening onto the terrace. It was slightly open and the breeze was refreshingly cool. It was a moonlit night and the silvered terrace looked inviting, so Remy stepped out of the window and walked across to look at the garden.

For some reason Remy was feeling restless. On the whole it had been a strange and disconcerting day. First there was the Duke's unfathomable and erratic behaviour towards himself, and then Sanford's antagonism. He felt that there were undercurrents in the air that he did not understand, and the thought filled him with unsettling tension.

After a moment he shook himself out of his reverie, and looked along the terrace. It was long and wide, running down one side of the house, around the corner, and along the other side towards the library. At the thought of the library, he remembered a book he had been reading there, and decided to see if he could find it, and take it up to his room with him. He did not want to go back into the drawing room, and deciding to go via the terrace, he ran swiftly down its length and turned the corner, where he was immediately almost knocked off his feet by a sudden collision with a large, solid form.

He regained his balance rapidly, assisted by a pair of strong arms, which encircled him and wrapped tightly around his waist. His own hands were gripping those arms, and he could feel the hard muscle under the cloth beneath his palms. Somehow he knew without a doubt who the person was and looking up confirmed that Avesbury was gazing down at him. His heart leapt into his throat and fluttered there and Remy could feel his face burning. He could only hope that in the silver light the Duke could not see it.

A soft, warm breath brushed across his cheek, and he saw the Duke's dark head bending towards him. A low murmur reached his ears, "Well, if you insist…" and he shivered with what he knew was delicious anticipation. His lips parted, of their own accord, in eagerness.

"Justin, are you out here?"

It was Viscount Sanford's voice, and Remy heard a soft ' _damn_ ' and then he was abruptly released. "Go," came a curt order, and he was pushed gently in the direction of the library.

Without thinking, Remy took to his feet and flew through the window, slumping into the first chair he found. His heart was pounding in his ears and he struggled to regain control of his breathing. It was not the short run that had caused his condition, he was aware of that without the hardness between his legs insistently reminding him. Once again the Duke had been about to kiss him, and it was his own reaction to that possibility that had him the most shocked he had ever been in his life.

* * *

Avesbury turned the corner and watched Sanford walking towards him. He was furious, not with the man nearing him, but with himself for once more succumbing to the temptation offered by Remy Saint-Clair. His reaction to the boy continued to amaze him, and the day had been a frustrating blend of wanting to ravish him every time he saw him, and avoiding him as much as possible. The fact that his temptation insisted on following him wherever he went only increased his frustration. He had come to the terrace for some solitude, and on his way back to the drawing room had found his arms full of the enticing creature who was increasingly invading his thoughts. And now it seemed that the boy was very willing to be ravished, which made the difficulties of not doing so increase tenfold. _The sooner we leave the better_ , he thought as Sanford approached.

"So you _are_ out here. I saw Remy leave the drawing room to come out here," Avesbury could hear the unspoken accusation, that he had arranged an assignation with the boy, in Sanford's brittle voice.

"Really?" he replied smoothly. "I haven't seen him. Perhaps he went into the garden. I was returning to the drawing room."

Sanford followed, as he began to walk back along the terrace. "Perhaps he couldn't find you."

"And what do you mean by that Sanford?" Avesbury's voice was quiet with warning.

"I mean that I think the French brat followed you, of course," Sanford stubbornly ignored the warning. "I think he'd like to seduce you, if he could."

As they neared the window to the drawing room the Duke gripped Sanford's arm tightly. "Oh, you mean the way _you_ seduced me?" his voice was heavy with sarcasm. Even in the dim light he could see the other man blush fiercely, but unfortunately this blush did not have the same pleasant effect on him that Remy's earlier one had. "Don't make the mistake of thinking you can play games with me, Sanford. Rest assured, I've seen through every move you've ever made with me, beginning with our first meeting. So far I've found it amusing and it's certainly been rewarding," he briefly pressed his lips to Sanford's. "I don't think you have anything to complain about either."

He waited for a moment, and then at Sanford's nod, he kissed his lover more thoroughly. "Now, I think we should rejoin my guests don't you?"

They entered the drawing room together, and the Duke spent the rest of the evening playing cards with Beaumont, Desford and Henley. His lover seemed momentarily content, and now the only task remaining was to continue to find ways to avoid the temptation of his delectable ward.


	11. The Discovery!

Remy spent a restless night. He had not returned to the drawing room after his encounter with the Duke on the terrace, but had instead fled to his room. His head had been full of images of Avesbury, and his own strong reaction to the man. But underlying everything was confusion. Why would the Duke ignore him one moment and then want to kiss him the next? The problem revolved in his mind, and when he finally did go to sleep his dreams were disturbing and strange.

He awoke heavy headed and sandy eyed, but when he was dressed in his riding clothes and on his way to the stables he remembered that the Duke had ridden with him the day before, and the fearful excitement that rushed through his body at the thought, cleared his head completely. How would the Duke behave this morning? And how would Remy himself react? He hastened his stride in eagerness, but it was a strange combination of disappointment and relief he felt when he reached the stables, and saw the Earl there instead of the Duke.

"Ah. Good morning, Remy," the Earl smiled at him. "Justin has some business to attend to this morning, and as I'm up at this ungodly early hour, I thought I'd join you for a ride. If that's all right with you?"

"It would be a pleasure, Milord," Remy responded politely, and watched as the Earl mounted a restive chestnut mare. "She is a lovely animal."

The Earl was waiting for Remy to mount his own horse. "Yes, Justin has had her for a while, I've often ridden her when I'm here. She's a little temperamental; you have to know how to handle her. I keep offering to buy her but Justin won't sell, stubborn as he is."

They rode out into the bright morning, the Earl still chatting cheerfully and Remy found himself enjoying the company of the other man enormously. When he had first met the Earl, the man, while friendly, had seemed a touch reserved but now the Earl was free and open in his manner, and Remy himself relaxed and behaved with the Earl as he would one of his closest friends.

Both horses were fretting for exercise, so eventually they took them into a fast gallop, and Remy was able to witness another skilled horseman, before they slowed to a walk at some distance from the house.

"Remy," the Earl spoke after a brief moment of silence. "Do you know how long you are to stay here at Avesbury?"

"I am not sure Milord," Remy answered, slightly puzzled. "I do not think I can go back to France for some time."

"Of course," the Earl smiled. "I meant that you might come up to London."

"Oh, well I do not think the Duke has any plans for me to go to London."

The Earl frowned. "You cannot stay hidden here forever."

" _Pardon_? Hidden?"

"Sorry," the Earl laughed. "I don't mean you are hiding, but you will get bored here, eventually. I think you would enjoy London, Remy."

"I think I would too, but the Duke did not seem to want me at his house in Grosvenor Square."

"There are other houses in London. Mine for instance. I would be honoured to have you stay with me, Remy."

Remy glanced over at the Earl and blushed slightly at the other man's seriously intent expression. " _Merci_ , Milord. It would be an honour for me also. Do you think the Duke would allow it?"

"True, he is practically your guardian," the Earl was again smiling. "However, if we were both to ask him, he might consider it."

Remy was now feeling uncomfortably confused. He liked the Earl, but the thought of asking Avesbury to allow him to leave with the other man, even for a short time, made him feel strangely depressed. Even if the Duke was in London, and Remy was in Avesbury he realized he wanted to remain, in some way, in the Duke's life.

He shifted in his saddle as he searched for some way to answer the Earl without seeming an awkward and ungrateful adolescent. " _Oui_ , he might, but I have not been here for very long so he might not agree right away."

The Earl reached over and suddenly Remy's hand was enclosed in a warm grip. "I understand Remy. I'm a patient man, I will wait." Remy glanced at the Earl in surprise at these words, but the other man simply smiled at him, then squeezed his hand once and released it. "Let me know when you are bored with country life, and if Justin does not take you to London, I will talk to him about it."

" _Tres bien_ , Milord. Thank you."

"My pleasure, Remy. Now I believe we should probably return to the house. I think I'm ready to enjoy breakfast now." Remy laughed and followed the Earl back to the stables.

* * *

Remy did not see the Duke until luncheon was served, and was plunged back into a confused state when he did. The man did not ignore him but he behaved as if the moment on the terrace had never happened, indeed his entire attention was focused on Lord Beaumont, who was entertaining the company with a long and humorous tale about a curricle race he had recently lost.

After the meal, some of the party went out into the park for some shooting and the Earl, Beaumont, Bedford and Sir Richard Westcott became involved in a serious game of cards. Avesbury and Sanford settled into a discussion with Desford and Henley. Sanford was once more casting cold glances in Remy's direction, so he finally took the opportunity to slip out onto the terrace.

Immediately he was reminded of the previous evening, but as the situation seemed no clearer he steadfastly distracted himself. He walked along the terrace, until he reached the library and remembered the book he had been going to collect the night before. The room was empty and the window was open, so he decided to retrieve it immediately, and it was in this way that he finally discovered why Viscount Sanford hated him so much.

For as he took a step forward to enter the room the door flew open, and the Duke and Sanford entered the room. Remy took a hasty step back and found himself tangled behind the curtain, still able to see into the room but obviously not visible to its occupants. He was about to make his presence known, when Sanford spoke.

"I know you're lusting after the French brat."

Remy gasped softly in surprise, and shrank further into the curtain. It was all too clear that Sanford was speaking of him. He waited in amazement to hear what the Duke would say.

The Duke turned to face Sanford. "We've talked about this before." The warning in his voice was clearly audible.

Sanford paid no heed. "And now we're talking about it again."

"Very well, then," the Duke leaned against a desk and crossed his arms. "What if I am? You know I've asked everyone to behave, that I've put that stricture upon myself as well. And you know it's you that I'm fucking every night. I had thought you were satisfied with that."

Remy again gasped, in shock at these blunt words, for it was immediately clear to him that the Duke and Sanford were lovers. A sharp stab of anger and hurt lanced his heart, as he waited breathlessly for Sanford's reaction.

It wasn't the angry explosion he had expected. Instead, Sanford smiled, moved closer to the Duke, and slid his arms around the other mans waist. "Oh, I'm definitely satisfied with the fucking."

And then Remy saw the Duke kiss Sanford, and this kiss was again different from any other he had ever seen. Deep and wild and hungry, and he had to wonder if the Duke would have kissed him like that, and what it would have felt like. Sanford seemed to like the way it felt, because Remy could see him writhing against the other man, and then the Duke pushed his leg between Sanford's and Remy saw his hands gripping Sanford's buttocks, and then Sanford was rubbing against the Duke's leg, and moaning into the Duke's mouth.

Remy was overwhelmed at the sight, his anger at the Duke was still boiling inside him, but at the same time he could feel a rising tendril of the heat that he knew was arousal, and between his legs he had never been so hard. He reached down to adjust himself in his breeches, and almost moaned aloud at the exquisite sensation. He had touched himself before, but it had never been so intense. He continued to watch the scene in front of him in wide-eyed fascination. Sanford's head was now thrown back, and he was panting loudly, the Duke's mouth was in the other man's hair, and Remy could hear the soft murmur of his voice. And then he saw one of the Duke's hands move from behind Sanford to his front, and Sanford groaned loudly.

Remy squeezed his own crotch, and a soft whimper escaped him. _Oh God_ , he thought as he continued to watch, _is this what could have happened last night?_ The thought sent a nervous flutter through his stomach and he closed his eyes. He needed to get away from the room, the scene, and these noises. He pulled gently at the curtain, stepped out onto the terrace, and then fled back out to the garden.

When he was far enough away, he dropped to his knees, and before he knew it he had opened his breeches and pulled himself out. He stroked frantically, and replayed the scene in the library over again, and then the confused thought ran through his mind that the reason Sanford hated him was because he was jealous of him, Remy, and when he came all over the grass it was the most intense climax he had ever had in his life.


	12. The Quarrel!

Remy spent the rest of the afternoon before dinner, in his room in a state of confusion, which he was beginning to think was permanent. His life had certainly seemed much simpler before coming to England, and meeting the Duke.

What he had seen was incredible, and he had to admit that he felt slightly ashamed at invading Avesbury's privacy by seeing it. But he also felt hurt and angry. Why had the Duke tried to kiss Remy, twice now, if Sanford was his lover? And the knowledge that Sanford was the Duke's lover only succeeded in irritating him further, even if the man disliked him out of jealousy. Because now Remy was mortified to realize he was jealous himself. To make matters worse, he still could not fully understand his reactions to Avesbury.

All in all, he didn't want to go down to the drawing room when the time came. The scene from the library kept repeating in his mind, he felt horribly embarrassed, and he wasn't sure how he would react when he saw the Duke and Sanford. So when he finally did reach the room he was in a state of considerable nervous tension.

As it was, they were at the other end of the room, when he entered it, talking to Desford, looking as they always did, and Remy felt even more stupid for expecting anything different. He avoided looking at them again, and made his way over to the Earl who greeted him warmly, and he concentrated on regaining his composure.

But when the Duke came over and handed him a glass of wine, he was humiliated to feel his face flushing hotly. He saw the Earl's amusement, which did not help his predicament, and could hardly meet Avesbury's eyes. He knew that the Duke was watching him, and when he risked a shy glance at the other man he met speculative brown eyes. He quickly looked away and was immensely relieved when the Duke moved to another group. When they finally entered the dining room, and he sat down next to the Earl, Remy had recovered from his embarrassment, and aside from a slight annoyance at exposing himself so stupidly, he was feeling much more at ease.

After dinner, Remy found himself seated on a sofa, alone with the Earl. For a while they were both silent as they sipped their claret. Remy's thoughts were still full of the Duke and Sanford, and he could not resist watching them where they talked at the other end of the room. He glanced at Desford and Henley who were talking with Bedford and Beaumont, and had to wonder why he had noticed they were together and had not noticed the same about Avesbury and Sanford. Had he, because of his own interest in the Duke, deliberately ignored the signs?

"What are you thinking about, Remy? You seem in another world."

The soft voice startled Remy and he turned to face the Earl in apology. " _Pardon_ , Milord. I was just wondering about things."

The Earl glanced around the room. "Wondering about what things, or was it people, Remy?" He smiled at Remy's faint blush. "I think you are probably a very observant young man, are you not?"

"Perhaps, Milord."

"You know, Remy," the Earl frowned. "I'd like to think we're friends. My friends usually call me Gareth. I'd like you to do so as well, if you would."

"It would be an honour to be counted as one of your friends, Gareth," Remy replied politely and smiled, relieved at the change of subject. However, the Earl's next words dashed his hopes.

"I think you have been observing Justin and Sanford, Remy. You are young, it is true, but I think you're innocence is not ignorance, and I have a feeling you are aware of the relationships around you."

Remy nodded his head, embarrassed but at the same time pleased that the Earl was talking to him so openly. "Yes, I am aware."

"And do you disapprove?"

" _Non_ Milord, I do not, though I know that many would not approve," Remy answered truthfully. "You know, I have seen this in Paris also, with my friends. It interests me," he confided.

The Earl's amusement was plain as he gazed into Remy's eyes. "I see," and his lips twitched, and then he cleared his throat delicately before he continued. "So you have no experience of it yourself?"

Remy was annoyed to feel his face flame yet again at such a direct question. "A little," he confessed, and at the Earl's raised eyebrow he continued. "My friend Paul, he kissed me once, you know… as lovers do."

"And did you enjoy that Remy?" The Earls voice was lowered further and he moved his head closer to Remy's. For the first time Remy noticed how very green the Earl's eyes were.

" _Oui_ , I did." All of a sudden Remy felt breathless and his voice came out as a soft whisper. His throat felt constricted and his mouth was dry, he quickly licked his lips and saw the Earl's eyes fix on his mouth.

"Would you like to be kissed like that again?"

Remy was absolutely stunned, and having no idea what to answer, gazed at the Earl in wonder. He saw the amusement return to the other man's face.

"Not here, of course. Somewhere with less of an audience I think." And suddenly the Earl was standing, and Remy looked around and found Beaumont and the Duke moving towards them.

"Gareth, could Justin and I speak to you for a moment? In the library would be best." Lord Beaumont directed an apologetic smile at Remy. "I'm sorry to take him away from you, Remy."

Remy could still not find his voice, particularly now faced with the Duke who was regarding him thoughtfully, and he was grateful when the Earl spoke for him. "Remy and I can continue our conversation tomorrow." He smiled at Remy, and then turned back to Beaumont. "I am completely at your service, Beaumont," and the three men left the room.

* * *

"What is the matter, Harry? I noticed you were gone from the room for a while." The Earl spoke as they entered the library.

"My courier arrived."

"Ah, bad news?" The Duke moved over to a decanter, and poured three portions of brandy, one of which Beaumont accepted gratefully.

"Not for me. But maybe for our young friend Remy." He took a sip of his brandy. "It's quite shocking actually, I imagine there will be quite an uproar when the news hits London."

The Earl raised an eyebrow. "You intrigue me."

"The Revolution is completely run amok. They've started guillotining the aristocracy."

"What?!"

"Yes, they started a couple of days ago."

"What of the King?" The Duke asked quickly.

"He is still in prison. But I wouldn't be surprised if they take his head soon."

"This is incredible." The Earl took a large sip of his brandy, and thought for a moment. "Did your courier have any names?"

Beaumont shook his head. "No. I asked specifically about Remy's parents but he had heard nothing of them."

The Duke frowned at the Earl. "We should return to London early. The Prince is returning there from Brighton, and you know he will want advice before he meets with Pitt."

"I agree," the Earl nodded. "I think we had best forgo the hunting lodge and leave for London, the day after tomorrow."

"Yes, but what about Remy?" Beaumont interrupted them. "I promised him I'd give him any news, but this is terrible. Do you think we should tell him?"

"Of course," the Earl answered him. "He's not a child. He has the right to face his own troubles, the same as any of us."

Beaumont sighed. "You're right of course. But perhaps it would be best coming from Avesbury."

The Duke was silent for a moment.

"I could talk to him if you like," offered the Earl. "I know Sanford's been giving you a hard time about the boy."

"No," the Duke shook his head. "I said he was my responsibility, and I take that seriously." He eyed the Earl. "And don't think I haven't noticed your interest."

"I haven't tried to hide it," the Earl replied, and watched with amusement as the Duke flushed slightly.

"Oh Lord, I believe we were told to behave?" Beaumont laughed.

"I am behaving. But you can't possibly think him ignorant of what is going on around him. He's more observant and aware then you think."

"That may be, but I won't have him messed with, by any of you," the Duke stated firmly.

"Only by you, is that it?"

"You know I include myself in that statement." The Duke's face reddened further.

"And what if he wants to be messed with?"

There was a crack of laughter from Beaumont, quickly stifled when Avesbury glanced in his direction.

"Are you saying he's approached you?" The anger and disbelief in Avesbury's tone was patent.

"I think you would be jealous if he had," the Earl replied, and then held up a hand to forestall the Duke's next words. "No, he hasn't, and this discussion is pointless. I assure you, Avesbury, I would not toy with the boy's feelings, and I remind you that those feelings will be very distressed, when he hears the news of the Revolution."

There could be no disagreeing with that statement, and the three men finished their brandy in silence.


	13. The Attempt!

It seemed to Remy that, as well as his permanent confusion, he had also developed the habit of restless nights, and morning found him feeling tired and out of sorts. All night, either the scene he had witnessed in the library, or his conversation with the Earl, had churned in his mind.

He still could not believe that the Earl had offered to kiss him, and he was relieved that they had been interrupted before he had been required to reply. Thinking about it most of the night had not helped to clear his head, and he didn't know what he would do when he saw the Earl again. Although he was curious, he wasn't sure he wanted to kiss the Earl. It was true, he thought, that the Earl was a very attractive man, the combination of his fair hair and glittering green eyes was very striking, but he did not feel the exciting and scary arousal that he did when he thought about kissing the Duke.

At that thought his anger and jealousy returned, and Remy frowned to himself. If the Duke really wanted to kiss him, if he really lusted after him, as Sanford had said, why was the Duke with Sanford? Why was he kissing Sanford?

Disappointment was making his heart heavy and his head ache, and it was in a despondent frame of mind that Remy wandered down the stairs and found the Duke waiting for him.

"There you are, Remy. I was wondering if you'd join me for a walk in the gardens. I wish to speak with you."

The nervous, excited feeling, which fluttered in Remy's stomach as he noted the serious expression on the Duke's handsome features annoyed him, but he nodded and followed Avesbury into the garden. Eventually they reached a bench in a secluded arbour, and the Duke sat down and motioned Remy to join him.

"Beaumont's courier came last night."

Remy clenched his hands as a stab of icy panic went through him. "Is it my parents?" he asked quietly.

"There is no specific news of your parents," the Duke replied. "However, there is news of the Revolution and Paris, which is rather disturbing." Remy waited in silence, and after a moment the Duke continued. "The revolutionaries have started guillotining the aristocracy."

" _Mon Dieu_!" Remy gasped. He felt tears sting in his eyes and quickly blinked them back. He would not cry like a baby, he would not. "My parents. Maman." He stood quickly. "I have to go back."

A strong hand gripped his arm firmly and he was pulled back onto the bench. "What good would that do, Remy?"

"But…"

"Listen to me," the Duke's voice was firm. "Your parents sent you to me because the most important thing for them, was for you to be safe. Do you really think you could do them any good by going back, putting yourself in danger, probably getting yourself killed?"

Remy shook his head and couldn't speak. He was afraid that if he tried, he would end up crying. The Duke's words hurt because he had to acknowledge their harsh truth. The Duke sat quietly and waited for him to regain his control, and Remy was grateful for his tact.

"I'm sorry, Remy. Perhaps you think I should not have told you? But I thought it for the best."

" _Non Monseigneur_ , I would rather know, the hardest thing is knowing so little."

The Duke looked down at him and there was a slight warmth in the brown eyes, and Remy found himself smiling. "Yes, I suppose that is hard." The Duke spoke softly. "We must return to London tomorrow, Remy, but I promise that as soon as I have further news I will inform you of it."

" _Merci Monseigneur_." Strong disappointment and hurt flooded through Remy as he realized that he would be left alone again, and he knew it must show on his face when he saw the Duke frown.

"What is it?"

"Nothing." Remy replied and then changed the subject quickly, with the first thought that came to his mind. "You know, I once met Robespierre."

The Duke let the evasion go, and in fact Remy's statement had stunned him considerably. How had the son of a protective French aristocrat met the leader of the Revolution? "You did?"

"Yes, just before I left Paris. My friend Paul and I, we dressed as peasants and went to the _Place de la Greve_ ," he paused and Avesbury saw him shudder slightly. "We thought it would be fun, but it was horrible. Everyone was so angry, and there was a lot of screaming and fighting. And then Robespierre saw us. I don't know how, but he recognised us." He paused for a moment. "He is not a pleasant man."

"I can't imagine he would be. What happened then?"

"My godfather, Jean Pierre found us, and took us home. He was very polite to Robespierre, but I think he was very angry also."

"I think he was justified in his anger. You did a very dangerous thing," the Duke replied.

Remy shrugged, still feeling his previous hurt keenly. "Perhaps."

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Avesbury watching him intently. "What did your father say?"

"I don't think he ever knew," Remy's heart was now pounding frantically in his chest. Avesbury's proximity was having a powerful affect on him, particularly as flashes of what he had seen in the library kept invading his vision. The questions, which had burned in his mind all night, were still in his head, and he felt desperate for answers. In a way, this was his last chance, and he struggled mightily to catch his breath and bolster his courage.

"The other night… on the terrace…" Remy stammered breathlessly, and then faltered to a stop blushing furiously. He could not believe the words had actually left his mouth, and he stared at the ground at his feet in terror and embarrassment.

The Duke shifted slightly beside him. "I believe it might be best to forget about that," he finally answered.

Remy's heart plummeted, but he had got this far and he was determined to at least find some reason for what had happened. "I thought that you… that you…" Again he was furious with himself for his inability to finish a sentence.

"Very well. You thought that I was going to kiss you," the Duke was frowning, but then smiled slightly as Remy's blush deepened at his plain speaking. Well, he decided, if the boy was going to ask the questions, he would have to deal with the answers.

"Were you?"

Avesbury had to admit that he was startled and surprised at Remy's continuing this line of questioning. He was obviously embarrassed, but it was equally obvious that he was quite determined. It was becoming difficult to know how to answer the boy, and the temptation to simply take him in his arms was very strong, particularly as he was beginning to suspect that this was exactly what Remy was hoping he would do.

"Yes," he answered simply. "And now you are perhaps wondering why?" he prompted as Remy continued to examine the ground. "The answer to that is easy. You are really quite lovely, Remy. I think you'll find that a lot of people in your life will want to kiss you." The Duke leaned back slightly on the bench and waited to see what Remy would do next.

Remy was amazed when the Duke answered him so calmly. He, himself, could hardly breathe through his embarrassed excitement, and his heart was pounding so loudly he wondered if the Duke could hear it. In the last few minutes he had definitely decided what he wanted to happen next, but the thought of asking his next question still terrified him. He finally dragged his eyes from the ground and looked over towards the Duke, who was regarding him steadily.

"Um… would you…?" Remy began, and then he remembered the library and Sanford, and he just couldn't do it. He began to rise from the bench in panic, but a strong hand once again gripped his arm and held him firmly.

"Are you sure you're ready to tempt me, Remy?" Somehow the Duke's voice was closer to his ear then he had thought, and he felt hot breath stir his hair. Again he remembered the scene in the library, and he wondered frantically what would happen if the Duke kissed him the way he had kissed Sanford. His panic rose again and he twisted his arm from Avesbury's hand and bolted.

"I guess not," the Duke said softly, to himself.


	14. The Unrequited Love!

That evening, Remy again entered the drawing room in a state of nervous embarrassment. It was beginning to become yet another habit, he reflected ruefully. After he had run from the Duke, he had spent the rest of the day hiding in the park. He had not even returned for luncheon, but felt too anxious to be hungry now.

He felt like such a fool. Why had he done it? First to talk to the Duke the way he had done, and then to run away like a frightened rabbit. He had berated himself for hours, and then had remembered the news of the Revolution and been horrified that he had allowed himself to become so distracted from his concern for his parents. He spent the rest of the afternoon in a frenzy of guilt and despair, and by the time he got back to the house he had a headache and he knew he looked pale and wan.

"Remy," the Earl handed him a glass of wine. "Where have you been hiding all day?" He took a closer look at Remy's face and then led him to a sofa. "Are you all right? I gather Justin told you the news."

Remy nodded miserably.

"I wish there was something I could do or say to make you feel better," the Earl said sincerely. "But I know there is not."

"Thank you, Gareth."

He had been surreptitiously searching the room as he spoke, relieved to find the Duke not yet present, but at that moment Avesbury entered through the terrace window and immediately met Remy's stricken eyes. The Duke smiled at him, and when he began to move towards them, Remy felt his face flame.

The Duke had spent an extremely frustrating afternoon attempting to come to a decision about what he should do about his young guest. Every hormone in his body had been raging at him to find the boy and take him as soon as possible, and he had been forced to exert considerable self-restraint in order to refrain from pursuing that most desired course of action. But he took his responsibility to his old friend seriously, and whilst it was true that in England he was the boy's only protector, Remy was still of the nobility, and not the free game he usually hunted. And while he was apparently willing, the boy was still young and obviously completely inexperienced in any type of romantic situation. In the end he had decided that he could not condone a course of action that might hurt the boy.

When he entered the drawing room and saw the shy look directed at him and the too pale face flush rosily, it almost undid the resolution he had forced himself to make. For a moment he was tempted to leave the room again, but he kicked himself mentally and made his way over to where Remy was sitting with the Earl. He had to settle the boy's embarrassment immediately before it got out of hand. _And before Sanford notices it_ , he thought to himself grimly.

He talked quietly with them for a few minutes, and within a short time Remy had recovered his composure and was gazing up at him gratefully. He steadfastly stiffened his resolve yet again, smiled and made a swift retreat to Sanford's side, cursing the day far past in his childhood when he had first met Dominic Saint-Clair.

Although he had dreaded having to talk to the Duke, Remy was immensely relieved when Avesbury showed no indication that he even remembered what had happened in the garden. His spirits rose slightly, and then soured immediately when the Duke went to Sanford. He glared at them for a moment, but quickly recovered himself. Still, when he turned his attention to the Earl, he could see the puzzled amusement in the man's green eyes, and quickly began to speak of one of his friends in Paris.

By the time he reached the dining room Remy had run out of conversation and he sat through dinner mostly silent, only occasionally speaking to answer a question. His earlier despondency had returned and he felt exhausted. The others seemed to respect his subdued mood, understanding the cause of it, and they mostly left him alone.

He stayed in the drawing room only for a short while, and then quietly retired. He was tired, still had a headache, and all he wanted to do was go to bed and hopefully sleep, but he heard a soft voice and turned to find the Earl behind him.

"I wanted to speak with you a moment."

Remy nodded and followed the Earl into the library. The other man closed the door and then stood in front of him and took his hand.

"Justin told you we are leaving tomorrow?"

"Yes," Remy replied.

"I wanted to say good bye," the Earl spoke softly. "I've enjoyed your company here. Remember what I said about coming to London. I would like to see you again soon."

Remy smiled up at him. " _Merci_ , Gareth. I would like that very much, also."

"Would you?" Remy felt the Earl's hand caress his cheek, and suddenly remembered their conversation of the night before.

"Of course," he replied calmly, but he felt his face flush as the Earl moved a step closer to him, and again he found himself gazing into those brilliant green eyes. The eyes came closer as the Earl bent his head, and the next thing Remy felt was firm lips pressed against his own.

He was pulled closer as the pressure became even firmer, somehow he found his own lips parting and then the Earl's hot tongue was in his mouth. For a second he tried to pull away, but the Earl's hand held his head in place, and he felt an arm around his waist pulling him even closer. Then the lips moved against his, and the tongue caressed his own, and he was lost in the sensations he had only ever experienced with another boy. But this was a man, and he found this mouth more demanding for a response.

And he was finding it impossible not to respond. He heard a soft whimper, and knew it came from him, and the Earl's tongue pushed against his own in reply. The arm around his waist tightened, and his own hands fluttered to the Earl's shoulders and he found himself holding on for dear life as the kiss became even deeper.

Suddenly the lips were gone, and he gasped for breath as he heard a soft whisper in his ear, "Remy," then again his mouth was possessed and he closed his eyes and gave himself to the moment. And for that one moment he imagined that this was the Duke kissing him like this, that in a moment the Duke would push him back against the wall and devour him the way he had seen him devour Sanford. Remy felt a rush of heat flame through his body, and he writhed against the man holding him, thrusting his own tongue into the other man's mouth. Then immediately reality crashed down on him, along with the knowledge of what he had just imagined, and he pulled himself away from the Earl, panting harshly.

" _Pardon_!"

"God, what for?" the Earl's hands reached out for him, but he stepped away again, and the Earl frowned. "You did nothing wrong, Remy, believe me."

Remy shook his head. " _Oui_ , I did. I am sorry, it's not you… I mean…" he faltered lamely.

Resignation settled on the Earl's features. "It's all right, Remy. I think I understand. I just hoped… " He took a deep breath and continued. "No matter. We'll just be friends, yes?"

"I'd like that," Remy smiled shyly, but still felt thoroughly ashamed.

The Earl gave him a sharp look. "Don't feel guilty about this, Remy. Remember, it was I who started it."

"Very well," Remy sighed.

"You had best go, Remy. I'll see you again in the morning." He smiled. "Sleep well."

Remy returned the smile, and then fled the room swiftly, narrowly avoiding colliding with the Duke in the hallway. He quickly sidestepped, nodded an embarrassed good night, and continued on before the Duke could speak.

* * *

The Duke entered the library, and found the Earl pouring himself a glass of brandy. "I'll join you in that, Gareth," he said, as he closed the door softly behind him.

The Earl glanced over his shoulder and grimaced. "Ah, Justin, of course."

"Thank you," the Duke moved forward and took the offered glass, sipping from it before he spoke again. "I believe you said, last night, that you would not toy with the boy's feelings," he observed mildly.

"Ha!" Avesbury was surprised to hear a short bark of bitter laughter from the Earl, but before he could speak, his friend continued, "I rather think he has toyed with mine."

Avesbury frowned. "Indeed?" He thought of Remy's behaviour in the garden that morning, and for a moment wondered if the boy was not so innocent as he seemed. Had he been playing with both of them? He felt a brief surge of anger and… disappointment, but then the Earl spoke again.

"Not deliberately of course. He had no idea, how I felt." He noticed his friend's raised eyebrows and smiled ruefully. "Does my confession surprise you?"

"Frankly, yes," the Duke's reply was deliberately blunt and he felt a brief satisfaction as he saw the surge of anger on the other man's face.

"Do you think, that because all you feel for the boy is lust, that someone else is not capable of feeling more?"

Now the Duke's own anger rose. "Of course not," he snapped, and then added maliciously, "I'm just surprised it's you."

For a moment the Earl looked murder, but suddenly his face cleared and he laughed. " _Touché_ , my friend."

The Duke's anger subsided and he laughed as well, but then he sobered. "While it is true that I am attracted to the boy, about which I hear enough from Sanford," he glared at the Earl's amused face. "I do take my duty as his protector seriously."

"No worry, I have had my answer," his friend replied. "I will not approach him again."

"What?" the Duke was puzzled.

"I was quite serious, Justin," the Earl answered him. "If the boy had been willing, I would have asked you to allow me to take over his protection. But he was not interested."

"I see," Avesbury felt another surge of satisfaction, though this one was not malicious. He also knew that this confession was difficult for his friend to make, the Earl did not risk his feelings often, and he risked rejection even less. "I'm sorry."

The Earl's gaze on his face was steady and serious. "No you're not, Justin, don't fool yourself. I seriously doubt, that even if Remy had been willing, you would have let him go. And not out of any sense of duty to his parents either. We all know that's a farce."

"Gareth…" the Duke warned.

"No, Justin," the Earl interrupted. "I have a feeling the only one who has been toying with Remy's feelings is you, even for all your protestations of protection and responsibility. I agree that the time has come to end it with Sanford. I sometimes wonder why you took up with such a shallow fool at all, though I imagine there have been benefits," he smirked, "but think carefully about Remy. I do care about the boy, and I'll be watching."

Avesbury was furious, but held a calm demeanour. His friendship with the Earl had spanned many years and many adventures, and they had always spoken plainly with each other. His friend's honesty was something he could always rely on, and while at times it made him want to kill the man, he also appreciated it, and knew the Earl felt the same way.

He took a deep breath. "Very well, Gareth," his velvet voice was underlined with steel. "I won't argue with you. I'll think on what you've said, but if you ever threaten me again…" he made a great effort to find a joke, "… I'll send Sanford on to you."

At his friend's look of horrified panic the tension broke, and they both laughed. The Earl drank the last of his brandy and put down his glass.

"I think I'll leave you now, Justin. I'll see you in the morning," he smiled self-mockingly. "I have some self-pity to indulge in." He drifted to the door and was gone.

The Duke sat in his library for a long time after the Earl had left. When he had seen Remy in the hallway, and then found Gareth in the library, he had immediately guessed what had been happening, and had known a moment of pure bitter, jealousy. It had been a struggle to control his fury when he spoke to his friend. This extreme reaction had shaken him, and he had been further shaken when Gareth had confessed the strength of his feelings for the boy. The memory of that confession, and the accusation that had come with it, now forced him to acknowledge that his own interest in Remy was beginning to move beyond mere lust.

He sympathized with Gareth's rejection, but could not help his satisfaction at the knowledge that the boy favoured him. The memory of Remy's enticingly awkward invitation in the garden, even though abortive, assured him that in a similar circumstance he himself would not be rejected. Still, while the thought once again threatened his earlier decision, the facts of the situation remained the same, as much as they frustrated him.

The Earl's words regarding Sanford came to his mind. He was suddenly very grateful that it had become necessary to leave the next day. Sanford's jealousy had already caused Avesbury enough annoyance, and the moment his current lover sensed that his suspicions of Remy's attraction for the Duke had become reality, there would be hell to pay. And Remy was, thankfully, no match for Sanford in a contest of spite. _Gareth is right_ , Avesbury sighed to himself, _the time has come to end things with Sanford. It has gone on too long already._


	15. The Knowledge!

When Remy had gone to bed he had thought that again he would not be able to sleep but as soon as his head had hit his pillow he had dropped into a heavy slumber. He woke late, and when he went downstairs Mrs Ransome informed him that while they had waited a short time for his appearance, when they had heard he was still asleep, the Duke and his party had left, almost an hour since. Remy was not sure whether to feel relieved or disappointed. While he would have liked to have said good bye to his new friends, he felt that his leave-taking with the Duke and the Earl could quite possibly have been rather awkward.

He still blushed to think of his actions the day before. First had come his clumsy attempt at, he could only call it seduction, with the Duke, and he shuddered to think how the man, the same man he had seen with Sanford, must be laughing at him. He could only hope that when he did see Avesbury again, the man would continue to behave as if the moment had never happened.

And then there was his shameful behaviour in the library. While it was true that the Earl had initiated the kiss, it was Remy who had allowed his attraction to the Duke to control his reactions. It was unforgivable, he knew, and it was only due to the Earl's kind and generous nature that he _was_ forgiven.

But the whole incident with the Earl _had_ answered some questions in his mind. He now knew, that he wanted more than anything for the Duke to kiss him the way he had seen him kissing Sanford, and to touch him the way he had touched Sanford as well. Whenever he thought about it he got hard, and he felt that flame of arousal sweep through his body. The thought of Sanford soon dampened that though, because why would the Duke seriously consider Remy, even if he did find him attractive, when he had Sanford, who would never be clumsy, or embarrassed?

Over the next few days, Remy returned to the solitary lifestyle he had enjoyed before the arrival of the Duke and his guests. He rode and wandered by the lake and read books in the library. At times it was very boring, and he worried a lot of the time about his parents. Still, anxiety could not always suppress the natural exuberance of youth, and he was able to distract himself.

His main distraction seemed to be his minds sudden capacity for conjuring up fantasies about the Duke. There were times when he was astonished at his own imagination, and also his physical reaction to the scenarios he thought up. He was touching himself more than he had ever done in his life before. He only hoped that when he faced the Duke again, his daydreams and activities would not be apparent to the other man. He had embarrassed himself enough.

Two weeks dragged by, and then came some days of heavy rain. Remy was even more bored, as it was too wet to ride. His only recourse was reading, or chatting to Mrs Ransome and the other servants, but as they had duties to perform, he most often found himself in the library, searching for interesting books.

On one such search he found himself trying the door of one of the enclosed bookcases, which had always been locked before, and was quite surprised when it swung open. The books on the bottom shelves were all historical tomes written in Greek, which he did not understand, but when he climbed a stool and looked at the top shelf he found only one small book there, written in English. It had no title, which he found strange, so he pulled it down and sat at the Duke's desk to have a look.

The next half hour was very educational and rather shocking. The book explained, in thorough detail, the mechanics of passion between men, and it certainly answered some of the questions that had been in Remy's mind. The language was very crude, and Remy often felt his face burning with embarrassment, but at the same time the rough descriptions excited him. The text was accompanied by some very intricate drawings, which he found aroused him even further. However, some of the activities described seemed very odd, and he wasn't sure if they would be pleasurable, but the men in the pictures were certainly depicted as enjoying themselves thoroughly.

About halfway through the book there was a picture of a man taking another man's ' _cock_ ', as the book called it, in his mouth. Remy wasn't sure if he would want to do that, but he did wonder what it would feel like if it was done to him. He thought of the Duke, and was just becoming involved in a daydream that closely resembled the scene in the book, when the door opened and Mrs Ransome entered the room. He jumped guiltily and snapped the book shut as she spoke.

"There you are, young Sir. It's time for luncheon you know, it's waiting for you in the dining room," and before he could answer she was gone.

Remy sat for a moment and calmed himself. That had been close, he knew for certain that Mrs Ransome would not approve of him reading this book, and he definitely wanted to finish it. But best not where he could be interrupted. Remy hid the book under his shirt, and quickly went to his room where he concealed the book inside another one he was reading, and then ran down to the dining room.

It was after dinner before he was able to return to his room, and he immediately lit a candle and retrieved the book from its hiding place. Images from the book had danced in his vision all afternoon, and he was already hard as he settled on his bed. He opened the book where he had been interrupted and turned the page, and then stared at the picture in a state of amazed astonishment.

The picture showed two men, one kneeling on all fours, while the other knelt behind him, and the one behind had his cock in the other man's bottom. Remy winced at the idea, but again the men were shown as being in a state of bliss, even the man in front. He flipped through the rest of the book and saw pictures of men in various positions, all with one of the men's cock inside the other man's body. Then he went back and began to read the descriptions. By the end of the first page of text he was feeling hot, and his breeches were straining over his crotch. He sat back for a moment to think.

This, then, must be what the Duke and Sanford did together, this was the action the Duke had referred to as fucking. And perhaps, this was what Sanford had meant, when he said the Duke lusted after Remy. Good God, he could not imagine doing this with anyone, the mere thought seemed impossible. But he looked at the pictures again, and read the rest of the text, and at the end he was still rock hard, panting breathlessly and was consumed with curiosity.

He lay back and imagined the Duke lying on top of him kissing him, and when he touched himself his body jolted with pleasure. The book had mention using fingers and lubrication, so he sucked on his fingers for a moment, and then reached down between his legs, gasping a little as his hand briefly brushed over his hard cock. The first push in hurt a bit, but eventually he had one finger inside. It felt strange and he really couldn't see any pleasure in it, but he left his finger in there, licked his other palm and stroked his cock more firmly.

The book had mentioned a spot inside that was supposed to cause great pleasure, so he moved his finger around a bit, but couldn't find it. However, the sensation of his wiggling finger combined with the slick friction on his cock was very enjoyable, and he was soon pushing another finger inside himself. This created a sensation of fullness, and he stopped the motion on his cock and concentrated on it. He withdrew his fingers slightly and then pushed them back in, and gasped at the exquisite sensation, and then he was pulling roughly on his cock again, and thrusting with his fingers, and his hips began to move in a rhythmic accompaniment, and he was rolling his head on the pillow as a rising tide of need and desire swept through his body. At the thought of the Duke's cock replacing his fingers Remy exploded, and as he lay afterwards, gasping to recover, the thought of doing this with the Duke did not seem so impossible after all.


	16. The Parting Of The Ways!

It had been a busy two weeks for Avesbury and the Earl, and even with that they had both found it difficult to keep thoughts of Remy from straying into their minds. Neither spoke of the boy by an unspoken agreement, but each knew of the other's preoccupation. The Earl maintained a stoic reserve as he resolved his disappointment, and the Duke continued to maintain his decision to resist the temptation of his ward's allure. Distance did not seem to diminish its power and he could only be thankful that he had so many engagements to attend.

Both men had many meetings with the Prince, deciding on an official response to the Revolution in France, though of course it could only be a diplomatic one. It was not England's place to interfere in the internal politics of France, although it took some time to convince the Prince to endorse his government's view. Many couriers travelled to France carrying strongly worded objections and requests for reassurances of the safety of the French Royal Family. So far the leaders of the Revolution had remained silent.

Many of the French aristocracy had escaped to other countries, and London was full of French émigrés who lobbied their English friends to take action. But in the end, as escape routes closed and the stream of refugees dwindled, even they had to admit that not much could be done by England, and were merely relieved to be safe, as horror stories about the guillotine and the Terror reached London.

One of the last escapee's from France was a young Vicomte, Armand de Bergeret, a friend of Lord Beaumont's, who turned up early one morning on Beaumont's doorstep and was welcomed warmly. He had been, before his escape, in the same prison as the King, and was able to give the Duke and the Earl the information, that at this time, the King was still alive, although he could not be sure for how much longer.

Aside from his meetings with the Prince, the Duke maintained his usual social life, consisting of the normal assemblies and balls of the ton, as well as the more private entertainments he provided for his more intimate circle. These gatherings were famous in a certain section of London society, for it was at these events that the restrictions of ' _acceptable'_ behaviour were dropped by all who attended, and the entertainments provided were varied and exotic. The guests were all male, and came from a wider spectrum of class then the aristocracy were used, and the artistic professions were well represented.

It was at one of these gatherings, three weeks after their return to London, that the Duke finally broke with Sanford. While their relationship had been ebbing, and Sanford had spent many nights at his own house, there had not yet been an official split. The Duke knew that Sanford had realized it was going to happen, and was fighting against it for all his worth. This particular evening he was attempting to arouse Avesbury's jealousy by flirting blatantly with a young Italian Count, who had recently arrived in London.

"Perhaps the Count will solve your problem for you, _non_?" An amused voice spoke at his elbow and he turned from his observation of his lover to find the young Vicomte de Bergeret behind him.

"How so?" he asked, but he could not suppress a smile.

"By taking your unwanted lover off your hands," the Vicomte replied.

The Duke sighed, melodramatically. "If he does not, would you?"

" _Non! Non!_ " the Vicomte laughed, and then stepped closer and lowered his voice in confidence. "I am more interested in your friend, the Earl. He has the look of the recently disappointed, perhaps I could help him recover."

"You are very observant," the Duke laughed, although he was surprised. He knew the Earl was not an easy man to read.

" _Oui_ , particularly when I want something," the young man replied blandly.

The Duke eyed the handsome youth narrowly. He was still pale from his recent time in the Temple and his long blue-black hair enhanced his wanness and created a sense of vulnerability. The Duke thought the affect very appealing, particularly when accompanied by the Vicomte's sparkling black eyes. It was amusing to think of his friend, the Earl, being hunted by this slender and seductive creature.

"You are also very confident."

"It is usually my nature."

"So I see. You know, I had thought you might be with Beaumont?"

The Vicomte shook his head. " _Non Monseigneur_ , we have only ever been friends. Besides, he is much occupied with that young man." He waved a gracefully slender hand, and the Duke followed its direction to where Beaumont leaned, holding a young man in his arms and nuzzling his neck. It only took a moment for the Duke to recognise Timothy. His courier had returned a few days before, and the Duke had not yet sent him on another trip. When he was in London, his courier usually stayed in the house and was no stranger at these gatherings, however the Duke had not seen him since his first report, and now he had a strong suspicion as to where he had been.

"I believe that I will shortly be looking for a new courier," he remarked to the Vicomte, when Beaumont lifted his face from Timothy's throat and he saw its enraptured expression. "Pity, he was very good at his job."

The Vicomte laughed, and then smiled delightedly as the Earl joined them and handed them each a glass of wine. "I have just had a message from the Prince," the Earl addressed Avesbury.

"Yes?" The Duke felt a weight against his arm and looked down to see Sanford leaning against him, smiling. His lover had obviously decided that the jealousy plan was not working, and had decided to try loving affection instead. He saw his friend share a quick, amused glance with the Vicomte and swore to himself that he would resolve this situation as soon as possible.

"The Prince wants to see us in the morning. Apparently Pitt has heard from Robespierre," the Earl's face was serious again. "And he is already on his way to England."

" _Mon Dieu_!" the Vicomte's pale face was now ashen. "Why would he come here?"

The Earl placed a gentle hand on the young man's wrist. "You have nothing to be concerned about. He can do nothing in England."

The Vicomte shook his head. "Of course, I am _imbecile_ to react so. But when I was in prison… there are interrogations… I, ah met him… " the young man was becoming incoherent in his distress, and the Earl shot a concerned glance at the Duke, "he takes…" he took a deep, ragged breath. "He is not a pleasant man," he ended lamely.

The Duke suddenly thought of Remy and replied, "I have heard that before." He shared a thoughtful look with the Earl, and the other man turned to the Vicomte. "Perhaps you should sit down," he offered. "Justin and I can discuss this later."

The Vicomte smiled and shrugged his shoulders, he appeared to have recovered his composure and was now calm. " _Non, Non_ , I am sorry, I am fine now. I confess I am curious to hear why he is coming to England."

"His message said to discuss our Government's concerns, and England's relations with France."

"Still," Sanford spoke. "It seems strange that Robespierre himself should come at such a time, to a country that despises him."

"I agree," Avesbury said. "He could do just as well by correspondence. What benefit would he have in coming to England?"

"Perhaps he has a personal motive," the Vicomte interrupted. They waited for a moment as the Vicomte appeared to think, and then he spoke again. "I have heard a story. It is crazy perhaps, but Robespierre, he is a man easily obsessed. I heard the story in the Temple from another prisoner. It seemed that Robespierre had met the son of an aristocrat by accident one day, a mere boy apparently, but he had become enamored. When he went to take the boy, he found that the parents had sent him somewhere, most probably England. He was furious, and has apparently vowed that he will have him."

"How gothic," Sanford snickered. "Do you really think he would come to England for such a reason?"

The Earl, however had noticed the Duke's thoughtful expression. "Justin?"

"Remy told me he had met Robespierre, just before his father sent him here."

"Remy?" the Earl turned back to the Vicomte. "Do you know the name?"

" _Oui_ , the father was the Marquis de Saint-Clair."

"Good God… Justin?"

The Duke was now frowning. "It's far fetched, I think, that Robespierre would come here for Remy. And even if he does, he's under my protection. He's not even in London."

"Do you mean that this boy is really in England? You know him?"

"Oh, we know him," it was Sanford who replied, and he directed a withering glance at the Duke.

"How many others know this?" the Vicomte asked.

"Only a few, and I will make sure it's kept quiet. Tell me, do you have news of the parents then?"

The Vicomte looked from the Earl to the Duke, and they could see by the expression on his face that the news was not good. " _Oui_ , I am afraid Robespierre took his revenge immediately. The father was one of the first to be guillotined, and the mother died before she was scheduled for the guillotine. She had been very ill already, and she did not survive the conditions of prison. I am sorry."

There was a long moment after this announcement, as each was lost in his own thoughts. The Duke found himself overwhelmed with memories of his friends, Dominic and Marguerite. Although he had not often thought of them, it was true, in the last few years, they had shared a time of his youth that was very special, a time when he had reached a new level of self-awareness, and with their help, even if they had not known it. Them and… he looked again at the Vicomte.

"There was a friend, a Doctor, the boy's godfather."

The Vicomte shook his head, "Jean Pierre du Matins, he was guillotined with the father. I heard that he had interfered when Robespierre first met the boy, and Robespierre knew he had conspired to get the boy away."

"God, this is like a bad melodrama," Sanford muttered, but was ignored.

"Justin…" it was the Earl. "We'll have to tell Remy."

"I know," Avesbury replied. "I'll go down to Avesbury after we meet with the Prince in the morning."

"Can we talk about something else?" Sanford's voice was brittle, and all three men looked at him in surprise and irritation.

The Duke made an instant decision. "Yes, immediately and in private, I think." He gripped Sanford's arm and steered him out of the room, leaving the other two men staring after them.

The Vicomte turned to the Earl. "I do not think that Viscount Sanford is going to enjoy the conversation."

"Yes." The Earl smiled.

* * *

"So, Sanford, was there anything in particular you wished to talk about?"

The Duke and Sanford had entered a small parlour and the Duke was leaning against the fireplace as he spoke.

"I…" Sanford was at a loss.

"Because there is something I think we need to discuss."

Sanford frowned momentarily, and then he sauntered close to the Duke and leaned against him, tilting his face up to meet the Duke's eyes. "Perhaps we don't really need to discuss anything," and he pouted his lips invitingly.

The Duke sighed, and gently moved the other man away from him. "You're right. There isn't really anything to discuss, and we both know it."

He saw the other man's crystalline eyes harden. "So, now the brat's parents are dead, you'll fuck his virgin arse before Robespierre gets to it, is that it?"

The Duke's hand swung out swiftly, and before the other man could move, he had dealt a stinging blow across Sanford's mouth. Sanford recovered quickly, and raised his own hand, but the Duke caught his wrist in a strong grip before he could move it.

"You know, Sanford, I'm prepared to forget what you just said," the Duke's smile was menacing. "I had hoped this parting would be amicable, I still hope so. But I assure you, any further outbursts like that one, and I'll kick your not-so-virgin arse all the way down to the street."

Cold fury was in Sanford's eyes as he wrenched his wrist from the Duke's hand and took a step back. "You could try," he spat.

"And I would succeed." The Duke laughed. "But let us end this scene in a more civilised manner; I know how you abhor gothic melodrama. I have enjoyed our time together Sanford, please believe it, but we both knew exactly what the nature of our relationship was, and that it would end eventually."

"And so now you just discard me?" The other man was still furious.

"Is that all that's bothering you?" the Duke raised an eyebrow. "You are quite welcome to make it known that you discarded me, if that is what you wish."

"You're a complete bastard, Justin."

"I always thought you liked that about me, Sanford. Come, enough of this. You have obviously been displeased with our arrangement for some time. Now you are free to pursue a happier one."

"As you are free to pursue your French brat, who is now your ward. It's disgusting, that you would take advantage of a child under your care."

"Remy is hardly a child, and somehow I don't think you are that concerned for his welfare, Sanford." There was a warning note to the Duke's voice. "Just remember, that whatever my interest in him, I will certainly protect that welfare."

"Are you threatening me now?"

"If I do, will you end this pointless conversation?"

Sanford's lips compressed together in a firm line as he made a visible effort to regain his control. "Fine, I shall leave then," his tone was scathing.

"You are quite welcome to stay and enjoy the rest of the evening. I was quite sincere about wanting this to be an amicable parting, and I believe there is a young count who would like to continue his conversation with you."

"I will not stay another minute in this house," Sanford stated firmly.

"As you wish," the Duke sighed, but the door was already closing behind his former lover.


	17. The Seduction!

"Ah, there you are young Sir. I have some news for you."

Remy followed Mrs Ransome into the breakfast parlour and sat at the table as she poured him a cup of coffee.

"News, Mrs Ransome? Has Timothy been here?"

"No, Remy, but His Grace arrived late last night." She saw the flush on his face and patted his arm in concern, "Are you feeling all right?"

He took a quick sip of coffee before he spoke. "Yes, Mrs Ransome, I am fine. Did you say the Duke is here? Did he bring anyone with him?"

"No, he came alone, and he is only staying until tomorrow. He wants to see you in the library after breakfast."

For one panicked moment Remy thought of the book in his room upstairs and was terrified that the Duke had somehow found out that he had taken it, then he immediately realized what a fool he was being. He gazed at Mrs Ransome expectantly.

"I'm thinking he has some news for you."

Remy remembered that the Duke had promised that if he heard anything about Remy's parents he would inform Remy, and the nervous anticipation he had been feeling at seeing the Duke again, blossomed into anxious dread. He gulped down the rest of his coffee, and left the room, swiftly making his way to the library, where he paused for a moment and then knocked on the door.

"Enter," the Duke's voice called, and Remy opened the door. "Ah Remy, come in."

The Duke strode forward and met him halfway into the room. He clasped his hand briefly and then waved him to a chair. When Remy sat, he then took the seat opposite. Remy had not yet looked at the Duke's face, but now he mustered his courage and glanced upwards. The expression on the Duke's face was one he had never seen there before, and the brown eyes held a compassion not usually apparent. Remy felt a sinking sensation in his stomach.

"Remy, I have some news for you, about your parents."

" _Oui_ ," Remy breathed. "They are dead aren't they?"

There was a tense silence before the Duke spoke. "Yes Remy, I'm afraid they are." He watched the boy intently, but his only reaction was the momentary closure of his eyes.

"I had been expecting it, to tell truth," he murmured softly. "How…" his voice broke on the word and he couldn't continue.

"Your father and also, I'm sorry, your godfather were guillotined," he heard a soft sob and swiftly moved to sit beside Remy, taking his hand. "Your mother died in the prison."

"She was very ill." The Duke barely heard the whisper and leaned forward slightly.

"I know," he replied.

They sat there for a while, Remy gripping the Duke's hand tightly, and the Duke watched the struggle for acceptance taking place on the lovely, expressive face. He longed to offer further comfort, but he knew that Remy was loath to lose his fragile composure in front of him. Eventually Remy withdrew his hand and stood.

"I would like to be alone now. Would you excuse me?"

"Of course, Remy." And as he watched the slender figure, gracefully exit the room, he knew that he could no longer resist. Remy had captured him completely.

* * *

Avesbury did not see Remy again until he was seating himself in the dining room for dinner. The boy looked pale and subdued as he apologized to the Duke for his lateness and took his seat, and it was obvious by his red and swollen eyes that he had spent some part of the afternoon in tears.

The Duke left him alone for a while, and then he distracted him with news from London, of the Earl and his other friends. Remy was interested to hear about the other French escapees, some of whom he knew, and it cheered him to think that some of his friends would survive the Terror. The Duke did not tell him about Robespierre.

When they entered the drawing room, Remy sat down as the Duke poured them some burgundy. After the Duke had handed him his wine and sat down beside him, Remy stared down into his glass, frowning.

"There is something worrying you." The soft voice startled him. "What is it?"

Remy looked up and found that sympathetic expression on the Duke's handsome face again. "I was wondering _Monseigneur_ , what will happen to me now?"

"You know your father sent some papers for me to sign?" At Remy's nod he continued. "I am now your legal guardian."

Remy frowned. "Yes, but with the Revolution… well, my family has lost everything. I have nothing."

"That's not quite true. Your father had holdings in England, which will revert to you when you come of age. You will not be wealthy, but you will be very comfortable. And you have friends."

Avesbury smiled down at him, and Remy found himself smiling for the first time since the morning. "Yes, that is true. But I do not want to be a burden to… anyone."

The Duke reached across and took Remy's wine from his hands, and then placed both their glasses on the table beside him. Remy found his hand clasped between two large, warm ones and then his hand was raised and he could feel the Duke's velvet lips press against his fingers.

"You will never be a burden to me, Remy." The Duke's voice was a soft murmur.

Suddenly Remy's heart leapt into his throat and then settled into a frantic beating. His hand clenched in Avesbury's nervously, and he felt the stirrings of desire and arousal heating his body.

Avesbury watched Remy's face carefully as he brushed his lips against the slender fingers again. The wide grey eyes were fearful but excited, and growing darker as the pupils dilated, and he saw the faint flush on the boy's cheeks. Then his eyes fixed on the slightly trembling lips, already parting invitingly, and he knew that this time Remy was ready.

Remy's eyes widened in nervous excitement as he saw the Duke's eyes focus on his mouth. Those eyes were darker than he had ever seen them, and they darkened even further when he tentatively licked his dry lips. Then he saw Avesbury's head lowering, and he quickly closed his eyes in anticipation of finally feeling the Duke's kiss.

The first touch of lips on his was a soft, tantalising brush and he whimpered in the back of his throat, but the lips immediately returned. Then the pressure was firm on his mouth, forcing his lips apart and a hard, hot tongue thrust into his mouth. In his nervousness he fumbled awkwardly with it for a moment, but then the tongue roughly caressed his own and when it retreated he automatically followed it. He heard a low groan, and realized with amazement that it was the Duke, and a rush of excitement and desire burned through him. He wanted to incite more of those groans, and he found himself pushing against the Duke's mouth, opening wider to him, and when that burning tongue swept into his mouth again, fierce and demanding, he surrendered to it immediately.

He felt a strong arm clamp around his waist and he was pulled tight against the Duke's broad chest, his hands gripping tightly onto the Duke's shoulders. The devouring lips continued to move against his, and he moaned against them as he struggled for breath and his senses swam. Suddenly his mouth was released and his head sank to Avesbury's shoulder as he gasped and he heard himself sighing, " _Mon Dieu, Mon Dieu._ "

A hot, panting breath was at his ear and he heard a low chuckle and then a murmur, "Your lips were definitely made for kissing, Remy."

Irritatingly the words sent a blush of shyness to his cheeks, and he heard the low chuckle again. The embrace around his waist tightened, and then he shivered in the Duke's arms as he felt the hungry, wet mouth move on the skin behind his ear. The sensation was exquisite, and he trembled uncontrollably as the lips caressed his ear. Then he felt the Duke's teeth nibble at his throat, and the soft touch of his tongue, and a jolt of pure pleasure shot straight down between his legs. He flung his head back, and arched his throat, silently pleading for more, and the Duke complied immediately nibbling and licking along his throat and up under his jaw.

"You like this?" Avesbury murmured against his throat, and he could feel those tormenting lips smile.

" _Oui_ , yes, yes," Remy breathed.

Then the lips were on his again, and this time it was different, the kisses were deeper, wetter, slow with drugging passion, and Remy felt an overwhelming need burning, radiating from between his legs, all over his body. It was so consuming, that even when he realized that the Duke's leg was between his, and that the Duke's hands were holding his hips as he slowly rubbed himself on that hard, muscled thigh, he could not be embarrassed at his own eagerness. It seemed natural, even when one of Avesbury's hands moved behind and he felt it squeezing, it only made him grind himself further into the Duke's leg.

Then he felt a hand on the inside of his thigh, and he paused for a moment unsure. The Duke's mouth left his own, and travelled along his jaw up to his ear. Avesbury's voice was husky when he spoke, and his words sent the flames of passion rising in Remy again.

"You are so gorgeous, Remy, so lovely. I want to touch you. Will you let me touch you?"

"Yes," Remy whispered, and immediately felt the Duke's hand pulling open his breeches. At this movement against his hardness he moaned, and his hips began moving again of their own volition. He heard the Duke's husky whisper again, "That's right, Remy, so good, it's so good, isn't it?"

He could only reply with another moan, and then another, as he felt the first touch of the Duke's large hand on his aching cock, which pulsed as the hand tightened its grip. This was so much better than any time he had ever touched himself, he was moaning continuously now, his fingers digging into the Duke's shoulders, his hips pumping as he thrust himself into that beautifully hot, velvet friction. Avesbury's mouth was moving in his hair, and the husky murmur sounded in his ear, "So beautiful, yes that's it, Remy, look at me. Remy, open your eyes."

He obeyed instantly, and found himself gazing into hot, black eyes, and then his mouth was captured again, and his moans were swallowed by the Duke. The pressure was building, and building and with a last few, firm strokes from the Duke's hand he was shuddering and writhing as he came in Avesbury's arms. One last spasm, and his mouth was released and he slumped against the Duke's chest, gasping for breath.

Remy was overwhelmed, and he buried his face against the Duke's throat struggling to compose himself. The Duke's hand was stroking, soothingly along his spine, and he sighed heavily as a delicious lethargy stole over him. He closed his eyes for a moment and then the last thing he felt was a soft kiss on his forehead.

Avesbury sighed softly when he realized that Remy was asleep. His own erection pressed painfully against his breeches, but he was content merely to hold the exhausted boy nestling against his shoulder. His arousal was slowly fading to be replaced with feelings of protectiveness and tenderness to which he was not accustomed and, he had to acknowledge, made him feel slightly uncomfortable.

He stroked his hand through the tousled length of auburn hair along Remy's back, and discovered that it did indeed feel like fine silk. The boy shifted slightly, and the Duke grimaced as he felt the sticky mess between them, and reflected ruefully that his clothing was probably ruined.

But, he thought as he tightened his arms around Remy's slender waist, it was definitely worth it. He had been correct about Remy's natural passion. From the moment he had first taken that tempting mouth, the boy had responded delightfully. True, there had been a couple of moments of awkwardness or hesitation, but that was only to be expected, and he had to admit he had found it charming. He had not made love with anyone so young for a long time, and had forgotten how erotically powerful it could be to have a partner less experienced than himself. His predatory instincts, always strong, were in full force and it was a novel and tantalising sensation to have to restrain himself from overwhelming Remy.

He looked down at the lovely face resting against his shoulder, and remembered the emotionally exhausting day the boy had experienced. Gently he tried to rouse Remy, but he was in a heavy slumber, and the Duke decided he didn't have the heart to wake him. So he gathered the boy in his arms and carried him to his room.

Once there he lay Remy on his bed and stood for a moment gazing down at the temptingly, sprawled figure. He realized that the boy's breeches were still open, and where his shirt and waistcoat had ridden up he could see the drying flakes of Remy's seed on his firm stomach. He wet a cloth in the washstand and gently wiped the boy clean. The Duke found himself mesmerized by the creamy skin of the boy's navel and ran his hand along the warm, satin skin. Remy murmured and shifted slightly at the sensation, but did not waken, and Avesbury stood abruptly and quickly pulled the covers over the slender form.

The Duke entered his own bedroom, once more uncomfortable with his feelings. Their intensity was beginning to worry him; he did not usually let himself go in this fashion. He remembered what Gareth had accused, that the Duke would not let the boy go even if the boy wanted to leave, and with the possessive feelings rising in him now, he began to wonder if that accusation might not be true. The thought shook him, but even more telling, the thought that Remy might choose to leave shook him more. Remy was very young after all. Was he wise to attach himself, as he now realized he was close to doing, to a mere youth, a youth who was experimenting sexually for the first time? He knew that Remy was strongly attracted to him, but had no real idea of anything else the boy might be feeling, and guessed that Remy had no real idea either.

In the end, Avesbury concluded, it was for the best that he had duties in London and must leave in the morning. He had not expected anything to happen with Remy so soon, had thought he would have more control. He finally drifted to sleep, knowing that he needed time to think about the situation, and in the morning he rose early, wrote a short message for the boy, and was gone before Remy awoke.


	18. The Betrayal!

Lord Beaumont opened his eyes to the dim light of dawn, stretched luxuriously in his large bed, reached a hand out beside him, and stroked a smooth caress along the spine of the body lying beside him. He rolled onto his side and smiled. Timothy was still asleep, but not for long.

He ran his hand along the young man's side, and then moved it to his chest and tweaked a nipple. Timothy rolled onto his back but did not open his eyes, so Beaumont slid his hand further down his lover's body to his groin, and firmly gripped the erection he found there. He was rewarded with a low moan, and when he looked up at his lover's face again, warm hazel eyes watched him avidly.

"Good morning," he smiled, and before Timothy could answer took his lips in a hungry kiss.

"Time for breakfast," he murmured when he released the other man's mouth, and he trailed soft kisses down a strong chest, making his way to the lovely flesh that his hand was still stroking smoothly. Without preamble he took it in his mouth and sucked strongly, holding Timothy's hips when the young man bucked against him.

"God… Harry," he heard a breathless voice.

He felt Timothy's hands pulling at his legs, and maneuvered himself until he knelt over his lover's head, and moaned around his prize softly when he felt his own hard cock taken into the warm, wet haven he loved. Not much longer and Timothy climaxed and his released him briefly, groaning loudly. Then Beaumont felt the hot mouth surround him again, and gave himself to the exquisite sensations, feeling them build, until he felt a wet finger pushing inside him and he exploded into Timothy's mouth.

After the aftershocks subsided he gathered Timothy into his arms and lay quietly. It was still very early but he did not feel like going to sleep, and let his mind drift in a contented daze. Eventually he realized his lover was also still awake, and was frowning in an abstracted fashion at the bedcovers.

"What is it?" he asked softly.

"The Duke came back yesterday."

Beaumont shifted slightly. "Ah."

"He was in a strange mood. Very withdrawn."

"Well, he had to tell Remy about his parents. It couldn't have been pleasant." Beaumont sighed.

"Yes." At the mention of Remy, Timothy's face had taken on the nervous, slightly guilty expression that it wore whenever the French boy was named. An expression Beaumont was becoming familiar with. He frowned, and decided that now was the time to get to the bottom of this mystery.

"Timothy," he said firmly. "I think it would be best if you told me about it, you know."

His lover immediately tried to pull away, but he tightened his hold on his waist and held him in place. Timothy sighed.

"When I was there, I sort of… um… well, I kissed him."

"Remy?" At his lover's slight nod and averted gaze, Beaumont frowned. "I see. And then what happened?" he asked calmly, ignoring the bitter anger growing in his chest.

"Nothing," Timothy was quick to assure him. "I really don't know why I did it, except that he was upset about his parents, and he's so… but I stopped anyway."

"Timothy," Beaumont was laughing with his relief. "I understand. Remy is lovely, I would have been tempted to kiss him myself."

Timothy's hazel eyes met his gratefully. "I'm glad you're not angry. I know it was inappropriate, I mean I'm only a courier, an orphan. I shouldn't have done it, no matter how tempted."

Beaumont was frowning again. "What do you mean you're _only_ a courier?"

"Well, I am," Timothy was puzzled. "I know I can't have a serious relationship with someone higher than myself, but Remy might not have realized that."

"You mean…" Beaumont was astounded at Timothy's words and felt his anger building again. "You mean, you don't take _our_ relationship seriously?" He couldn't keep the hard note completely out of his voice, and he saw Timothy flinch slightly and again avert his eyes.

"No, don't look away," Beaumont gripped Timothy's chin and held his face firmly in place. "Answer my question."

The hazel eyes lifted to his, their usual cheerful sparkle replaced with something vulnerable, which caused a sharp stab of pain in Beaumont's heart. "Maybe _I_ do," he could barely hear the soft reply.

"Timothy, don't you realise I'm serious about us? I love you."

The vulnerability was replaced with angry disbelief, and his lover pushed against him. There was a momentary struggle as Beaumont fought to hold him, and eventually Timothy gave up and slumped against him. "I never thought you'd mock me." Beaumont could hear the pain in his voice.

"And I never thought you wouldn't believe me," Beaumont replied instantly. "I've been in love with you for months, you idiot."

The tension of the body in his arms was still strong, and Beaumont ran his lips over his lover's throat until he reached an ear and then whispered into it, "I love you Timothy, no matter who you are. I want you to leave Avesbury's employ, stay with me and be mine. Will you do that? Do you love me?"

"I can't. Why are you doing this?" the voice was tight.

Beaumont felt his heart squeezed in an icy vice, and his head sank to the shoulder before him. "So you don't love me?"

He heard a soft sob. "You know I do. But this is impossible."

"Why?" Beaumont was smiling now as he lifted his head. He'd heard what he'd needed to hear and the rest was a foregone conclusion, even if his lover didn't know it yet. "We break one rule of society, why is it so impossible to break another? Are you afraid you'll be ashamed of me in front your friends?"

Now he heard soft laughter. "I am already."

"Then there's no problem is there?" Beaumont's joy was rising as he sensed the capitulation in his partner, and he turned Timothy's face towards him again, and softly kissed his mouth. "Tell the Duke you're leaving. Tell him today," the orders were issued with a grin, and he saw an amused smile on Timothy's lips.

His lover released a long sigh, and finally Beaumont saw that Timothy was now his. "I'll have to. For some reason he's going straight back to Avesbury tomorrow."

Beaumont took his lover's mouth in a fierce, hungry kiss, then just as suddenly released him and pushed him away. "Get dressed, go now," he laughed as Timothy rolled off the bed, and he heard the answering giggles from the floor.

* * *

Timothy was in high spirits as he walked through the streets of London. The sun was up, but it was still early, and the streets were quiet. He knew the Duke would still be abed, so he took his time, sauntering along the pathways, and reflecting that a dream he had suppressed for a long time had come true and how wonderful that made him feel.

He had to acknowledge that he still had some doubts, not about his feelings or Beaumont's, but on how the Duke and Beaumont's other friends might react. He knew these men did not feel themselves bound by the normal conventions of society, but he was still an orphan, and they were still the aristocracy. However, he had made his decision, and he would not, could not, back out now.

He came out of his reverie when he realized he was in the next square from the Duke's. He saw the uniformed men, standing outside one of the large houses, and remembered that Robespierre had arrived in London the previous day, and that this was the very square in which he was staying. He stood on the opposite path and scowled at the house, wishing for a way inside so that he could kill the man who had destroyed Remy's family. He had never felt such murderous rage in his life before, but it faded into shocked astonishment when he saw a man swiftly exit a carriage and dash up the stairs to the door, and he realized he knew who it was.

What on earth was Sanford, _Sanford_ , doing entering Robespierre's house so early in the morning?

Timothy quickly ducked into the railings of the house opposite, and watched as the door closed behind Sanford. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, as he remembered that the Duke had broken with Sanford a couple of days before, and how he himself had seen Sanford leave the house in what could only be described as seething fury. Timothy knew how dangerous Sanford's spite could be, and he knew that Sanford knew the story the Vicomte had told of Robespierre's interest in Remy, the same story that the Earl had repeated to Beaumont. He thought he should run to Grosvenor Square, but he also knew the more information he had the better, and the Duke could hardly force his way into Robespierre's house to find out why Sanford was there. So he waited to see what would happen next.

About half an hour later, the door opened and Sanford emerged with another man who Timothy, having seen the man on his last trip to Paris, instantly recognised as Robespierre. Even from across the street Timothy could see the tension in Sanford's frame, and it was clear the interview had not gone entirely as the Viscount had planned. Timothy was not surprised when a carriage drew up and Sanford was directed into it, then he froze as for a moment Robespierre looked over and seemed to be gazing directly at him. But the other man merely entered the carriage himself, after speaking briefly with one of the men who had exited the house behind him, and then Timothy was following the carriage with anxious eyes as it moved away.

Now was the time to go to the Duke, and once the carriage was out of sight he moved from the railings. Then his heart sank as he saw the man Robespierre had spoken to standing before him.

"See something interesting?" the man sneered at him in heavily accented English.

"I was just leaving. Sorry." Timothy muttered and tried to move past, but the man grabbed his arm.

"I don't think you're going anywhere."

He struggled to pull his arm away, but then he felt a crushing blow on his head and everything went black.


	19. The Villain!

Sanford sat in the carriage beside Robespierre in deep regret that he had ever gone near the man. His plan of revenge against Avesbury and Remy had seemed delightfully simple when he had first thought of it. But he had never intended to become involved himself, his only idea had been to inform Robespierre of Remy's whereabouts, and then depart to watch events unfold from afar.

He had found Robespierre to be icily polite when he entered the parlour, and he had not liked the gleaming speculation he saw in the French man's eyes as they swept over his body, and then settled on his face.

"Your message said you had some important information for me. I am glad you could deliver it in person," he stated in accented but excellent English.

The voice was sinuous and Sanford shivered slightly, and immediately decided to come straight to the point.

"I had heard that you might be interested in the whereabouts of Remy Saint-Clair," he stated bluntly, and watched as the other man's brow rose.

" _Eh bien_. I wonder where you heard that?" the soft voice speculated. Robespierre smiled coldly, "I might be," he allowed, "but I also wonder why you, an English aristocrat, would be willing to give me that information."

"I have my reasons."

"You are in need of financial assistance?"

Sanford started slightly at the question; he honestly had not thought of it. "No," he shook his head.

"Very interesting. Revenge then, " Robespierre's cold smile broadened at Sanford's look of consternation. "A motive I understand very well," he assured. "Do you hold a grudge against the family of Saint-Clair? They are all dead you know, except for the boy, and I have other plans for him."

"I have nothing against the family," Sanford replied. He was beginning to feel very anxious, Robespierre was somehow not quite what he had expected, and tendrils of fear were rising in his stomach and he wanted to leave. "Do you want to know where he is?"

Robespierre waved a hand. " _Tres bien_ , of course. Please tell me."

"He is at the Duke of Avesbury's estate in Surrey."

"Avesbury? Interesting, I have met him last evening along with your Prince," he smirked, and then watched Sanford carefully as he added, "He is a very handsome, powerful man." He was rewarded with a flash of anger in the blue eyes before him. "I think I understand you, _mon cher_."

Sanford heard the contempt in the voice and his anger erupted. "I don't care what you understand. I've told you what you wanted to know." He moved for the door, but halted at the menacing tone in Robespierre's voice.

"Not so fast, Viscount. We have a journey to make, you and I."

Sanford gaped. "A journey?"

"Of course," Robespierre laughed at his confusion. "You are not so _imbecile_ to think that I can just drive up to a Duke's residence, and take a boy under his protection. It is obvious you have met the boy, and that you are known at the house. You will have to bring him to me."

"I can't," Sanford gasped.

"But of course you can," the other man blandly replied. "No revenge is complete without dirtying the hands a little, _non_? You will drive with me to this estate, bring the boy to me, and then you may go where you will."

"I will do no such thing," Sanford stated.

"Oh, I think that you will. I can always let the Duke know of this conversation. I doubt he would be pleased."

Sanford paled. "You wouldn't. You'd never get the boy then."

"Perhaps not," Robespierre shrugged his shoulders. "But I do not have him now."

Remembering this moment as he sat in the carriage, Sanford shuddered. It was the moment he had realized his own stupidity, and he cursed himself now for ever entering Robespierre's house. He could not risk the Duke discovering his actions so he had quickly capitulated and agreed to bring Remy to Robespierre. There was only one way he could think of, and he wasn't sure it would work. He did not know if Remy was aware that he was no longer of the Duke's circle but he would just have to risk it.

* * *

The day after the Duke had left, Remy had escaped into the garden after his luncheon, to sit in his favourite spot beside the lake, and try to understand the tumultuous emotions he was experiencing.

He had awoken the previous morning, surprised to find himself fully clothed in his own bed. The last thing he remembered was being held in the Duke's arms, downstairs in the drawing room. He blushed as he remembered what had happened, but at the same time he felt deliciously aroused. He wished the Duke was there so they could do it again. He sat up and dashed to the washstand; well, it would not be hard to find him.

Washed and dressed, Remy had run downstairs eagerly and checked the drawing room and the library. It was still fairly early, and he realized the Duke might still be in his chamber, so he made his way to the door of the Duke's bedroom. There he hovered uncertainly, but finally he plucked up his courage and gently opened the door. The room was empty.

When Remy entered the breakfast room, Mrs Ransome had told him that the Duke had already left for London. Remy felt a sharp stab of disappointment and then the housekeeper had handed him a note, and when she left he had opened it eagerly. However the note had proved extremely disappointing.

 

> _Remy,  
>  I have matters in London, which I must attend. I will return when I can.  
>  Justin._

 

He had read the note over, again and again, looking for some acknowledgement of what had happened between them the night before, but there was only the slight one in that the Duke had signed his own name. Remy fervently hoped this meant something. He felt abandoned, and it hurt dreadfully, and when he remembered his parent's deaths the feeling was increased tenfold, and he had retreated to his room, flung himself on his bed and succumbed to his tears.

After he had calmed, he had started to wonder about the night before again. He remembered the way he had fallen asleep as soon as he had climaxed. He knew the Duke had been aroused, perhaps now he was angry with Remy for not giving him the same pleasure he had given Remy. Remy shook his head; he didn't think the Duke was like that, so maybe something else had happened.

It was at this point that he had remembered Sanford, and it felt like his heart had frozen solid. The Duke had gone back to London, back to Sanford. The thought made Remy very angry, he didn't want Avesbury to be with Sanford. The power of his jealousy overwhelmed him, and he found himself cursing the Duke. He flung himself out of the house and went for a ride, vowing never to think of the Duke again.

This vow he found impossible to keep, and thoughts of the Duke constantly invaded his mind. He would see the brown eyes, with that look of warmth they had held yesterday, and there were times when he could almost feel the Duke's lips on his throat, and hear the husky whisper in his ear. He remembered the things the Duke had said to him while they had made love, and his arousal burned, and his heart ached.

Remy knew what love was, and that there were different types, he had felt love for his parents, and another type of love for his friends, but this was unlike any type of love he had ever felt before. He wanted the Duke to be with him, he wanted to talk to him, he wanted to touch him, and he wanted to do all those things he had seen in the book with him. And he wanted the Duke to belong to him and no one else. He had gone to sleep with that thought echoing strongly in his mind.

Now, sitting in the spot where he had first met the Duke, he found himself assailed by doubts yet again. What if the Duke did not feel the same way? After all, Remy had seen Avesbury with Sanford, seen the passion they shared. Why would he give that up, for an inexperienced young boy like Remy, who fell asleep like a baby in the middle of making love?

And so, it was with these thoughts running through his mind, that Remy looked up and saw Sanford standing before him.

"There you are Remy. I've been looking for you."

Remy frowned at this appearance of his rival, and then his heart lurched wildly. "Is the Duke here as well?"

"No, he sent me."

"He did?" Remy didn't know what to think, and gaped at Sanford in astonishment.

"Yes," Sanford held out a hand. "Come along."

Remy stood up but did not take Sanford's hand. "Come where?"

Sanford sighed impatiently. "Justin has decided he doesn't want you staying here at the estate any longer. He's sent me to take you to one of his other houses, and quite frankly I have other things I'd rather be doing, so hurry up." He watched Remy nervously and was relieved when the boy did not protest but merely paled. When he saw the tears rising in the expressive grey eyes, he knew Remy had fallen for it.

"B… but," the boy began, and then his shoulders slumped and he simply nodded. "Very well."

Remy was in a fog of despair and anger, as he followed Sanford through the park. It seemed that the Duke had made his choice and didn't want Remy. Sending Sanford to move him from the estate was a bitter blow; he could not believe the Duke could be so callous and cruel. Remy's heart ached painfully, and his throat was tight with the tears he was straining to hold back. He would not cry in front of Sanford.

Then he looked up and noticed they were heading away from the house, and he halted.

Sanford looked over his shoulder and frowned. "What is it?"

"Where are we going?" Remy asked nervously.

"I have a carriage waiting near the end of the drive," he rolled his eyes. "Hurry up."

"But my clothes…" Remy protested.

"They'll be sent on. It's taken care of." Sanford began to stride forward again. "Remy, come on."

Remy wondered for a moment, and then continued to follow Sanford. As Sanford had said, an unmarked carriage waited at the end of the drive, along with two outriders and an extra horse. Remy thought it strange about the carriage, he would have thought Sanford would have his crest on his carriage, and he supposed that Sanford's dislike of him would not allow him to share a carriage with him, and the other man intended to ride.

They reached the carriage and Sanford opened the door. "Get in."

Remy began to climb the step, and then he was shoved roughly in the back and he stumbled forward into the carriage. Strong arms gripped his waist, and he found himself held tightly against a strange man's chest. He tried to turn to protest at Sanford, but the carriage was already moving, and he lost his balance and fell against the man again.

Sanford mounted his horse, and watched as the carriage drove away. So it was done, and he could only be thankful that Robespierre had kept his word, and he was free to go. He did not think he would return to London. The change to his plan had unsettled him and he felt unsure about what would happen next, it would be best to disappear until the incident blew over. He turned his horse in the direction of his own country estate and began to ride.


	20. The Abduction!

"Hello Remy. I am overjoyed to see you again."

The voice was soft and menacing against his ear, and he looked up in surprise that this person spoke in French, and should know his name. He saw the face, and gasped in horror. It was Robespierre, the man who was responsible for his parents death. Rage and fury stormed through him and he pushed and pulled at the grip that held him, but the man only laughed, and then he froze in terror as a hard mouth descended on his own.

After his first moment of frozen shock, Remy struggled against the lips on his, but to no avail. Strong fingers gripped his jaw painfully forcing him to open his mouth, and Robespierre's tongue plunged between his lips. Fury returned, and Remy did the first thing he thought of, he bit down on that tongue, hard.

An enraged scream echoed through the carriage, and Remy was pushed away violently. He felt his back hit the seat opposite and his head snapped back painfully, but he shot to his feet and scrambled for the door. Just as he reached it, strong hands gripped his hips and he was hauled back, cursing fiercely, and planted firmly on the lap of his abductor.

"Your manners really leave a lot to be desired, Remy," Robespierre's voice was harsh and one of his hands now crushed Remy's wrists in an agonising grip. "Fortunately it's not your manners I desire."

Remy looked down as he continued to fight, and saw a rough, hemp rope being wound around his wrists and tied tightly. Panic was pulsing through him, and he twisted his wrists in the rope frantically, but even though his skin began to break and bleed, he could not get free.

Robespierre had now let go of his wrists and his arms wrapped tightly around Remy's waist again, so hard that he began to struggle to breath. He could hear Robespierre also panting roughly, and suddenly the man's pelvis tilted upwards and he felt a hard length pressed against him. He tried to move and heard Robespierre laugh. "Oh yes, Remy, that's exactly where I want to be."

For a moment Remy was at a loss, and then he remembered the pictures in the book and cold terror gripped his mind. He froze, and then Robespierre's hand slid down his front, forcing his legs apart and clamping onto his groin. His frozen shock broke, and he began to fight furiously again in a frenzy of panic, swearing loudly, screaming for help, the skin on his wrists tearing further in his struggle.

Robespierre cursed and the hand was removed, and then Remy's head was gripped, and his mouth was wrenched open and a bottle was placed at his lips. A fiery liquid was tossed down his throat. He choked, but a hand clamped over his mouth, and he was forced to swallow. Robespierre laughed again.

"As much as I've enjoyed the struggle, Remy, I'm afraid I need you a little more compliant when we stop for the night."

Remy continued to fight, but his strength was ebbing and his eyes were growing heavy. He blinked rapidly in surprise as the carriage interior wavered around him. Then his head slumped forward, and he knew no more.

* * *

Robespierre heaved a sigh as Remy finally passed out, and he sprawled back on the seat pulling the boy tightly onto his lap. The lovely head fell back on his shoulder and he couldn't resist tracing his teeth along the finely arched throat. He suckled strongly making a mark of possession, as his hands once more explored the boy's body. He slipped a hand into the front of the boy's breeches and fondled him.

His own cock was painfully erect and pulsing with need, as he pushed it up against that delectably tight arse resting in his lap. For a moment he was tempted to push the boy forward onto the opposite seat, pull down his breeches and take his relaxed body then and there, but he decided he wanted the boy awake and aware when he finally claimed him.

He thought back to the first time he had seen the boy in the _Place de la Greve_ , and the way he had marvelled at the instant lust, which had consumed him. His fury when he had gone to arrest the Saint-Clair family and take the boy into his possession, only to find him sent away had known no bounds, and the parents had paid for it immediately with their lives. He had thought he would never have the boy, and though he had come to England with him in the back of his mind, it had only been a vain hope that he would find him. And then that spiteful fool Sanford had dropped into his lap. How the aristocracy disgusted him with their petty vengeances but he had made use of it as he always did, and now his prize was here, in his lap and in his hands. He could be patient for a little longer.

Finally it grew dark, and he directed the coachman to stop at the next village. He would stay at an inn this night, and tomorrow he would take Remy to the boat he had waiting. He could not yet return to France himself, but he would have this one night to whet his appetite.

The coach stopped at a well-lit inn, and his coachman informed him he had managed to obtain rooms for the night. Robespierre wrapped Remy in his cloak, and carried him into the bedchamber he was shown to by the landlady, who frowned at him as she saw his burden.

"Is he ill?"

"No, no," he assured her. "Merely tired from the long journey. He is asleep, I did not want to wake him."

She smiled, nodded and left. He placed Remy on the bed carefully and unwrapped him from the cloak, checking that his wrists were still bound securely. He frowned at the torn and bleeding skin but he could not risk untying him. The boy should be waking any minute; in fact he had already been under for longer than was usual. Robespierre checked his pulse, found it normal and shrugged his shoulders. Sometimes it happened this way.

His eyes darkened as they swept over the body gracefully sprawled on the bed. He hoped the boy would wake soon, he was eager to begin. However, in the meantime he had other appetites to quench, and a hot meal would be most welcome. He tied a silk handkerchief around the boy's lax mouth, gagging him in case he awoke. Then he locked the door behind him before going down stairs to find something to sustain him for the long night ahead.


	21. The Pursuit!

As the hour for luncheon approached Lord Beaumont paced his library in agitation. Timothy had not yet returned, was in fact now over an hour late. What could be keeping him with Avesbury? He remembered his love's concerns that morning, and frowned. He could not think it possible that Justin was making things difficult for Timothy, that he disapproved. But still Timothy had not returned, and perhaps it had been a mistake on his part not to accompany his lover to the Duke's house.

There was nothing to stop him going now, however. He left a message that if Timothy should return, he would find Beaumont at Avesbury's, and swiftly exited his house. To save time he took a hackney, and was shortly entering the parlour at Grosvenor Square, where he found Avesbury entertaining the Vicomte de Bergeret and the Earl, but with no sign of Timothy.

Avesbury stood as he entered the room. "Harry, come in, join us please."

At this Beaumont swept into the room and demanded bluntly, "What have you done with Timothy?"

"I beg your pardon?" the Duke raised a puzzled eyebrow.

"Timothy was coming here to talk to you," Beaumont informed him. "He and I… he was going to tell you that he wishes to leave your employ."

"I see," Avesbury replied. "How tiresome, I knew this would happen. I'm very pleased for you Beaumont, but I don't appreciate you stealing the best courier I've ever had."

The Earl laughed at this and added a comment of his own. "Took you long enough, Harry."

Beaumont was still frowning and his irritation was rising. "Enough of this, Justin. Where is he?"

Avesbury sobered immediately and shared a quick glance with the Earl. "I don't know, Harry. I haven't seen him."

"You mean he hasn't been here?" Beaumont took a seat next to the Vicomte and stared at the Duke in surprise. "But he left hours ago."

Avesbury shook his head, and then the Earl spoke, "Are you sure he was coming here, Harry?"

"We talked about it…" Beaumont faltered as he once again remembered his lover's fears. Could he have changed his mind? But if so, where would he have gone? His heart sank, and he gazed at the Earl blindly. "Where is he?"

He felt a warm hand cover his and turned to see Armand smiling at him. "Do not worry, _mon cher_. He loves you. Perhaps he has encountered a friend."

Beaumont smiled weakly. "Perhaps. But I can't help feeling something has happened to him…" he turned as the door opened and the butler entered.

"Your Grace," he addressed the Duke. "Could you come down to the hall?"

"What has happened?"

"It is young Mr Timothy, Your Grace," the distress in the butler's voice was apparent to all, "He has just arrived. He has been injured."

"Timothy!" Beaumont leapt from his chair and swiftly exited the room.

The Duke exchange one look with the Earl who said to him, "We should all go," and the three men followed the butler down to the hall.

When they got there, they found Timothy sitting on the floor with Beaumont kneeling beside him looking at his head. "It's not that bad, Harry. Really," Timothy was saying. "Where's Avesbury? I have to tell him."

"I am here Timothy," the Duke saw the dried blood on his face and the stains on his clothing, and knelt down beside him. "What happened to you?"

"The man hit me on the head. I passed out, or I would have been here sooner. Lucky he left me in an area basement in the street. I suppose he couldn't take me into the house because of the English guards," Timothy realized he was babbling and took a deep breath. "It's Robespierre."

"Robespierre hit you?" Beaumont was incredulous.

"No, no. I saw Sanford leave with Robespierre, and he must have seen me, and so the man hit me."

"Sanford!" The Duke's voice rapped out explosively, and then he immediately calmed. "Timothy, try to tell me exactly what you saw."

Timothy nodded. "Yes, sorry. Well, I saw Sanford go into the house Robespierre is staying in. He was in there for a while, and then they left in a carriage." His hazel eyes pleaded with the Duke's. "I tried to come and tell you, but that was when the man hit me and I passed out."

"It's all right, Timothy," Avesbury reassured him.

"Why on earth would Sanford go off with Robespierre?" Beaumont was still amazed.

The Duke was silent, and the Earl finally spoke, "Justin, I have a bad feeling about this..."

Timothy interrupted. "It's Remy of course. They've gone after Remy."

" _Mon Dieu_!" the Vicomte grabbed the Earl's arm. "We must go after them. We must get him back. You have no idea…"

"I think I can guess," the Duke finally spoke. "I'm leaving at once. Beaumont, look after Timothy, if he needs a Doctor get him one." He moved to the door, with the Earl on his heels.

"I am coming with you." They all stared in surprise at the Vicomte.

"Are you sure?," the Earl's voice was gentle as he noted the other man's pale face.

" _Oui_ , definitely," the Vicomte smiled grimly. "You may have need of me." He made a fencing pass. "Give me a sword. When I have one, I win a fight."

The Duke nodded. "Very well." And they were gone.

Beaumont looked down at Timothy. "Go with them, I'll be fine," his lover assured him, but Beaumont shook his head.

"No, you need a Doctor."

"No I don't, there's more blood then anything else, I just need to clean up. I don't even have a headache."

"Let's get you cleaned up then."

An hour later they sat in the drawing room both fidgeting anxiously; Beaumont sprawled on a sofa and Timothy prowling the room restlessly. Beaumont had checked Timothy's head, found only a small cut, and pronounced himself satisfied that Timothy would be all right. But the waiting was proving intolerable for both of them, and Beaumont knew it would be many hours before they received any news. He sighed for the thousandth time, and heard Timothy echo his sigh. Then a thought struck him.

"Timothy… do you think that Sanford would remain with Robespierre once he had handed over Remy."

Timothy shook his head. "He'd have no reason to."

"What do you think he'd do?"

A gleam came to Timothy's eye. "He'd hide. But he's so stupid he'd probably head to his own house."

"That's what I thought," Beaumont rose to his feet slowly. "I don't think he should go unpunished do you?"

Timothy ceased his prowling directly in front of Beaumont. "You're only going if I come with you," he warned.

Beaumont frowned for a moment, and then leaned forward and placed a swift kiss on Timothy's lips. "I always enjoy your company, my love."


	22. The Confession!

When the Duke, the Earl, and the Vicomte had left Grosvenor Square they had only stopped to collect swords, before making their way to the Duke's stables. Once there, they waited impatiently as the Duke's fastest horses were saddled.

"Justin, where exactly are we going?" the Earl asked tensely. "Where would Robespierre take Remy?"

"We'll go to Avesbury first, it's just possible that Sanford and Robespierre haven't gone there yet." He saw the Earl shaking his head. "I know it's a poor chance, but even if they have someone there may have seen something. He could make for the coast, but we can't know for sure which port, though Dover may be the best bet. However, Robespierre still has meetings scheduled, so he may hide Remy somewhere and then return to London."

" _Merde_!" The Vicomte swore. "He could be anywhere."

"Wherever he is, I'll find him," the Duke vowed as his horse was led out to him.

They rode at a fast pace, only resting the horses on the steepest hills, and arrived at Avesbury by late afternoon. As they pulled in their horses at the house, Mrs Ransome descended the stairs swiftly to meet them.

"Your Grace, I did not expect you back so soon." She glanced at his companions and noticed the grim faces. "Is something amiss?"

"Where is Remy?"

"Remy? I haven't seen him since noon. I think he's out in the garden somewhere."

"I'll go," as the Earl turned his horse, the Duke ordered, "Check the lake."

A few minutes later the Earl returned. "He's nowhere close to the house," he informed them.

Mrs Ransome was looking anxious. "Has something happened to Remy?"

" _Oui_ ," it was the Vicomte who replied. "We think he may have been abducted. You have not seen anything?"

"Abducted!" Mrs Ransome gasped. She was silent for a moment and then looked up at the Duke with fearful eyes. "Your Grace, my brother, the vicar, has been here," she began haltingly.

"Yes?" Avesbury demanded.

"He saw a carriage and some outriders at the entrance to the drive earlier. He said the carriage was unmarked. He was curious as to why it was in the drive so he watched, but he only saw it take the road to Dover. Nothing more, Your Grace."

"It's enough," the Duke's voice was hard. "How long ago?"

"A few hours, Your Grace."

The Duke nodded. "We'll need fresh horses."

Once more they rode hard, at first not stopping at any of the villages they passed through, but eventually the Duke reined his horse in and spoke. "It's about the right distance that he'd start to think about stopping. We had better check any inns we come across."

The other's agreed, and at the next village they asked at the inn for news of any travellers. They had no luck; except for an old farmer who told them he had seen the carriage pass through the village earlier in the afternoon.

"At least we are still on the right track," the Vicomte said, but the Duke was grimly silent.

As they continued, the Earl watched his friend carefully, not liking the expression on the other man's face. When they stopped at the next inn, he procured some ale and they drank while the Vicomte questioned the landlord.

"What is it, Justin?"

"Nothing," the Duke replied curtly. By this time it had become dark and the Earl could not see his friend's face, but he could hear the tension in his voice.

"I know you care for the boy," he prodded.

He heard a short bark of laughter. "As do you."

"Yes," the Earl agreed. "But _he_ cares for _you_."

There was a moment of silence. "Do you think so?" The Duke's voice was a low murmur.

"Justin," the Earl was becoming frustrated. "I have never thought you a fool. Do not disappoint me now."

"I cannot oblige you, I'm afraid."

"Oh, spare me the self-pity," the strong contempt in the Earl's voice was clearly audible, and the Duke raised his head and glared at the man beside him. "What happened?"

The Duke sighed. "When I was at Avesbury, something occurred between the boy and I. I could not be certain of his feelings, so I…"

"You mean you were afraid of your own," the Earl interrupted. "You've been in love with him from the beginning and you know it."

"Gareth, so help me, if you…" Avesbury took a deep breath and compressed his lips. "You are deliberately provoking me, of course…" he finally spoke again, and he could feel the other man's grin in the darkness. "And I imagine I deserve it. I left him without much explanation and came back to London."

The Earl stared at the dim figure beside him and tried vainly to control his anger. "You mean to tell me that you went to Avesbury, told Remy that his parents are dead, seduced him, and then abandoned him. Good God, Justin, what sort of bastard are you? When this is over I assure you I am going to kill you."

There was a moment of tense silence, and then the Earl heard a deep sigh from his friend. "Gareth…" the voice held a hesitancy he had never heard in it before. "I just may let you. At the time I really thought it for the best, but as soon as I got back to London I realised what a mistake I had made, how foolish and truly cruel my actions were. I know I've hurt him at a time when he is already in pain. I don't know what possessed me."

"Fear is what possessed you, you bloody fool, and I never thought I'd see the day." Avesbury could hear the angry exasperation in his friend's voice. "Is this why you were returning to Avesbury tomorrow?"

"Yes. After our next meeting with the Prince, I planned to return immediately. I shouldn't have waited. I should have gone straight back yesterday. If anything happens… If he has been harmed, I will never forgive myself."

"As much as I hate to say it, if he has been harmed it will be Sanford's guilt, not yours."

"And Sanford will pay I assure you," the Duke's voice was tight with the promise of violence. "After Robespierre."


	23. The Rescue!

When Robespierre returned to the bedchamber he was thoroughly annoyed to find his prize still asleep under the influence of the drug he had administered. He shook the boy slightly, but he was not pretending. Still, he would find a way to rouse him, so he poured some cold water into the washbowl and carried it over to the bed, along with a cloth. He opened Remy's shirt, untying it down to his waist, spread it open, and found his gaze riveted to the smooth expanse of creamy flesh exposed. The boy was slender but lightly muscled and well defined. Two coppery nipples peaked slightly at meeting the cool air of the room, and Robespierre could not resist, he leaned forward and took one of the tantalising nubs between his teeth. Licking the surrounding skin roughly, he decided that the boy tasted delicious. There was still no reaction to his ministrations, however, so he sat up and prepared to drip the cold water onto the boy's face with the cloth.

Robespierre jumped violently when the door swung open with a resounding crash. He turned his head and leapt to his feet, about to demand an explanation, when he recognised the face of the boy's guardian, the Duke of Avesbury.

The Duke loomed into the room, sword in hand, his face grimly menacing. He shot one quick glance down at the figure on the bed and then his hard eyes fixed on Robespierre with a murderous gleam. Robespierre took a quick step back to the table behind him, and reached for his own sword.

"You do not deserve the honour, but I will fight you," the Duke's voice was velvet steel, and he raised his sword on guard.

Robespierre smirked and raised his own sword, but as two more figures entered the room, he stepped back again. He had previously met the Earl of Huntingdon also, but his eyes widened as he recognised the third man.

"Armand de Bergeret," he purred. "It is a great pleasure to see you again."

The Vicomte had drawn his sword, and his face was livid with fury. "Robespierre! _Fils de garce_! You see I am armed for this encounter." He raised his sword.

"Ah, but I have already accepted a challenge," Robespierre smirked again, and nodded to the glowering Duke.

"You will fight me," the Vicomte declared and stepped forward.

The Duke gripped his arm and hauled him back, and his voice was firm as he declared to the Vicomte, "He is mine."

A laugh interrupted them. " _Tres bien_ … but the Vicomte has been mine." As they all three looked towards him, he glanced at the boy on the bed and then sneered at the Vicomte. "You think his arse will be tighter than yours?" he taunted crudely. "But he is a virgin, and you were not."

The Vicomte swore again, and the Earl held him tightly, as he struggled to reach Robespierre. The Duke moved forward, his anger not diminished at the relief of hearing that Robespierre had not yet harmed Remy.

"Enough!" and he brought his sword crashing down on his opponent's.

It was close quarters for fencing and the fight was brutal. Within a short time both men were breathing harshly and bleeding from small wounds, the Duke from a cut on his forearm, and Robespierre from a deep gash to his thigh. The French man soon realized he faced a more skilled opponent and began to think of a means to escape. The door was blocked by the other two men, who stood closely observing, their own swords raised. However, the window stood wide open and he knew there was a roof underneath it, which dropped to the stable yard.

After a brief, violent exchange of swordplay, he manoeuvred himself to the window and leapt through it. The Duke stood for a moment in amazement and then dashed to the opening, but Robespierre had dropped to the yard and was running for the stables. A brief exclamation behind him, and he turned to see the Vicomte wrenching open the door and running for the stairs. The Earl shot him a quick glance.

"I will go after him, you look to Remy," he gestured to the bed, and was gone.

* * *

When the Earl reached his horse, the Vicomte was already mounted and riding furiously after Robespierre and his outriders. He could not catch the Vicomte and had to be content to tail the chase. The odds in a fight were against them, but he did not seriously think that they would catch the men they were pursuing, whose horses were fresher. He could already see the Vicomte's horse slowing as it tired. The man would not give up however, and even when their quarry was so far ahead as to be no longer visible, he continued to ride. The Earl followed silently.

Eventually the Vicomte came to a halt and the Earl rode up beside him. In the moonlight, he could see that the other man's face was pale and despairing. The Earl reached out a hand and laid it on the Vicomte's.

"Armand…"

"I have failed once again," he was interrupted.

"We could not hope to catch him."

For a long moment there was silence and then a low voice came to the Earl's ears. "You heard what he said then?"

"Yes," the Earl replied gently. "But I had already suspected…"

"It happened while I was in the Temple." There was a dead quality to the Vicomte's voice, and the Earl squeezed his hand tightly. The Vicomte shivered for a moment, and then looked up at the sky. "I'm tired."

"There is a village not far ahead," The Earl told him. "We'll go to the inn there."

The Vicomte only nodded and spurred his tired horse on. They reached the inn, and went immediately to the room they were allotted. The Earl asked for some food and wine to be sent to the room, and then turned and watched as the Vicomte slumped onto the bed in an exhausted stupor. When their refreshment arrived, the young man sat up and ate a small amount and drank a large glass of wine, then lay back against the pillows once more and closed his eyes with a weary sigh.

The Earl came over to the bed and sat down beside him, and immediately the Vicomte's eyes opened. The expression in the black eyes was bleak, and when he spoke his voice was low and full of self-loathing. "You must despise me as much as I despise myself."

"What?" The Earl frowned at him. "Why would anyone despise you, Armand, for something that happened against your will?"

The Vicomte grimaced and shrugged his shoulders expressively. "Maybe, but I was still a fool." At the Earl's puzzled look he continued. "My Maman and I were arrested and taken to the Temple. We were scheduled for the guillotine, but Robespierre saw me, and he knew who I was… I mean he knew I had been with another man. So the night before, he sent for me. I fought him at first, and even though I was bound, I made things difficult for him." For a moment a vicious smile passed over his face, but then the bleak eyes returned to the Earl's face. There was a pleading look in them, an entreaty for forgiveness, and the Earl responded immediately by taking the other man in his arms. The Vicomte's body was rigid with tension and for a moment he moved away, but when the Earl would not let him go he relaxed slightly. "He tired of it, and he told me that if I gave him what he wanted he would not guillotine my mother. So, I let him…" the voice broke, and when after a moment he spoke again his voice was flat, "she was guillotined the next day, anyway."

The Earl's green eyes flashed with fury, although when he spoke his voice was gentle. "How did you escape?"

Armand had closed his eyes, and his body was now more relaxed, as if the telling of his ordeal had released the tension, which the Earl now realized, had always been there, even under the Vicomte's apparent good humour. "There was a guard who had helped other prisoners escape. I do not know who he was or why he did it, but when he came to take me to Robespierre the next night, he took me out of the prison, and gave me a horse and some papers. I came to England."

"And I am glad you did," the Earl whispered. The Vicomte had shifted down the bed, and he could see the young man was growing drowsy.

" _Oui_ , as am I," came the yawned reply, and the Earl tightened his hold around Armand's waist. "I like you." A sigh.

"I like you too, _mon cheri_ ," and the Earl pressed his lips to the back of the young man's neck. He lay through the night, holding the sleeping Vicomte in his arms, and he did not even notice that he not once thought of Remy.


	24. The Apology!

After the Earl had left, the Duke swiftly crossed the room to where Remy lay on the bed. The fact that the boy was still asleep immediately alerted him to the fact that Remy had been drugged. He checked his pulse, relieved to find it normal, and then quickly removed the gag from Remy's slightly swollen lips. He brushed a quick kiss across those lips, sat back to wait and then noticed the still bound hands. Once he had the rope untied he swore as he observed the torn and bloody skin on Remy's wrists. Looking around, he saw the bowl of water beside the bed and cleaned them gently, checking that there would be no permanent damage. Avesbury ripped the ruffles from his shirt cuffs, and dampening them slightly, bandaged the slender wrists. Then, sitting beside the sprawled body, the Duke leaned back against the pillows and waited. He guessed that the drug would be wearing off soon, and was slightly surprised at the trepidation he felt when he realized that he was not sure how Remy would react to him.

He could not take his eyes from the lovely form beside him. The hair was like copper satin on the white pillow, and dark lashes rested on pale cheeks alluringly. His gaze dwelt for a moment on the soft, rosy lips, longing to taste them again, and then moved down the long throat. He swore softly when he saw the mark there, and almost wished he had joined the Earl and the Vicomte in pursuing Robespierre. But when he looked again at the boy beside him, even with his foolish nervousness, he did not regret staying.

It amused him to think that this young creature should have so unwittingly captured one who was usually the seducer, and he still was not quite sure how it had happened. All he knew was that his friend the Earl was correct, and that somehow he had fallen in love with the son, barely a young man, of one of his childhood friends.

By this time Remy was starting to stir, and Avesbury reached down and moved his shoulder gently. "Remy, wake up… wake up now."

His only reply was a low murmur and he leaned down over the boy to hear.

He could not make out the words which were followed by a sigh and a final, clear whisper, "…Justin."

The Duke smiled. "I'm here, Remy, wake up."

Beautiful grey eyes met his and then blinked rapidly. " _Monseigneur_ …?"

"I think I prefer ' _Justin_ ' from your lips, Remy." He caressed a finger over those same lips.

Remy smiled up at him, and then fear swept into his eyes. "Robespierre…"

Avesbury's fingers brushed his lips again. "He is gone, Remy. You are safe."

"Sanford said…"

Again the Duke interrupted. "Forget whatever Sanford said to you, Remy. It was a mistake."

Remy saw the Duke's forbidding expression and swallowed his next question. He sat up and looked around the strange room in great confusion. "What happened? The last thing I remember I was in the carriage with Robespierre. He was…" he broke off, his face pale.

The Duke leaned forward and took his hand, caressing the back of it with his thumb. "What was he doing?" he asked gently.

Remy closed his eyes briefly. "He was… he kissed me," he shivered and focused his gaze on the floor. "He said he wanted to… you know," he blushed and his final words came as a barely audible whisper. "…go inside me." He glanced up and saw the fury in the Duke's eyes and shivered again. "Then he made me drink something."

Avesbury saw the fearful expression on Remy's face, and tightened his hold on the boy's hand. "He drugged you and brought you to this inn. We caught him here, but he jumped out the window and escaped. Armand and Gareth went after him."

Remy drew his brows together in puzzlement. "Armand?"

"The Vicomte de Bergeret. He is a friend of Lord Beaumont's, and a refugee from the Terror, like yourself. He accompanied me, with the Earl, in searching for you." Avesbury could no longer resist, and he raised the hand he was holding to his lips and brushed a gentle kiss against the long fingers. He saw Remy's eye's widen, and moved slightly closer to him. "I am so sorry this happened, Remy, but I assure you, Robespierre will never come near you again."

Remy's heart began to beat rapidly when he felt the Duke's lips on his hand and heard the tone of his velvet voice. He flushed again as he remembered what had happened last time the Duke had kissed his fingers. But then he remembered the way Avesbury had left the next day, leaving only a short note, and his heart lurched as the hurt and abandonment he had felt returned in force. He pulled his hand from the Duke's and averted his face as he tried to regain his composure.

The Duke cursed himself when Remy withdrew his hand and he saw the tension flood into the figure before him. For a moment he was tempted to simply drag the boy into his arms but resisted it, knowing that after his encounter with Robespierre such an action would probably incite Remy to panic.

"I owe you an apology…" he began, but immediately stopped when he heard a whispered interruption.

" _Non_ … please. I know you do not want me."

For a moment the Duke was stunned into silence and then, before he could stop it, a short bark of laughter escaped him. He instantly regretted it when he saw Remy wince and begin to move off the edge of the bed. Inwardly swearing to himself he reached out and gently halted the boy by gripping his arm. "You can't honestly believe that."

Remy was very still, and then he took a deep breath. "Then…" he paused for a moment and directed a swift glance up at the Duke before continuing, "Then why did you leave me?"

The Duke saw the pain on the expressive face, and heard the hurt confusion in Remy's voice, and his heart was torn. He was now adequately punished for his foolishness, he reflected ruefully as he pulled Remy slightly closer. "I can't tell you how sorry I am for that, Remy. While it's true that I did have matters in London, which I had to attend, I should not have left the way I did, without talking to you. It was just… I wasn't sure that I had done the right thing with you." He sighed. "You are very young."

Remy felt a tear trail down his face as the Duke's words confirmed his fears that Avesbury preferred Sanford's skill with passion. "I know," he faltered. "I'm too inexperienced."

Avesbury heard the tears in Remy's voice and reaching a hand under his chin, gently tilted his face upward. His heart contracted as he met swimming, wide, grey eyes. "No Remy, I find you only charming. But I think I am too old for you."

Remy forgot his tears as he found himself mesmerised by the face above him. Avesbury's dark eyes burned into his, and some of his long, brown hair had escaped from his riband and hung around his face in silken waves, making him look less formidable somehow. For the first time Remy saw how sculpted the Duke's firm lips were, and he blushed as he felt desire rise in him, and he knew that what he most wanted was to kiss that perfect mouth. When he lifted his eyes to the other man's again, and the pupils flared with what he recognised as arousal, Remy felt a delicious flutter of anticipation. And then he promptly shocked himself by leaning up and pressing his lips against the Duke's.

After a second Avesbury's lips parted under his, and he heard a moan as he pushed his tongue into the Duke's mouth. He found the other man's tongue and caressed it desperately as he ran his fingers through the Duke's hair, clenching it in his fists. A part of himself deep inside could not believe his own abandoned behaviour, as he climbed onto the Duke's lap, frantic with need, rocking himself on the Duke's thigh, and pulling at the man's clothes, but he could not stop.

Avesbury had experienced a moment of absolute shock when he suddenly found his arms full of a sensually desperate Remy, but he instantly recovered and returned the boy's fevered kisses with his own hunger. Longing to feel Remy's hot satin skin he pushed his open shirt to the bed and caressed the writhing body with firm strokes, which seemed to incite the boy into further wantonness. He could tell that Remy was perilously close to orgasm, and he grasped his hips and held him still, breaking their deep kiss to whisper in his delicate ear.

"Shhh… Remy. Calm down, sweetheart, we have plenty of time. There's no rush."

Remy heard the husky voice and it sent a shiver down his spine. He tried to control his ragged breathing and calm his heart's frantic beating. Then the Duke moved him away gently, and dismay and shame almost overwhelmed him, but then he saw Avesbury kneel up on the bed and remove his shirt, and his embarrassment was forgotten. Remy's eyes widened at the impressive musculature revealed before him, and he reached out a tentative hand to touch. The skin was hot and smooth over a rock hard chest, and as he circled one fingertip around a peaked, brown nipple, he was rewarded with a hiss of pleasure.

Suddenly strong hands enclosed his bandaged wrists and he was pushed onto his back on the bed, and felt for the first time the deliciously heavy weight of the Duke pressing down on him. He gasped and writhed sinuously, and felt Avesbury shiver. Then, as his wrists were clamped firmly and gently above his head, his mouth was again taken in a demanding and possessive kiss.

Remy gave himself to the kiss with whole-hearted abandonment. He felt Avesbury's hips move against his, and spread his legs slightly. The Duke lifted and then settled between them, and when he felt the hard bulge of the Duke's groin resting against his own pulsing cock, Remy moaned loudly into Avesbury's mouth. He remembered the way the Duke had touched him when they had been together before, and he knew he wanted to feel that hardness in his own hand. The Duke had released his wrists and was now running his hands through Remy's hair, and rocking his hips gently, creating a delicious friction between them. For a moment Remy was lost in the sensation, but then he pushed his hand down, squeezing it between their bodies and began to fumble with the Duke's breeches.

Avesbury froze, and immediately Remy feared he had done something wrong, particularly when the Duke rose to kneel on all fours above him. But the Duke only gave him one intent look and then reaching down, opened his breeches and pulled himself into Remy's hand. The heavy weight burned in Remy's palm, and he leaned up on his elbow to see. The Duke's cock was larger than his own and thick, surrounded by a dark bush of hair. It was flushed a dark red with the Duke's arousal, and a small drop of fluid trembled on it's tip. It rested gently on his palm, and he stared at it, unsure.

"Remy," he looked up, and the Duke's eyes were hungry and he was breathing rapidly. "Just do what you do when you touch yourself."

Remy blushed in his embarrassment, but he let go of the cock and brought his hand up to his mouth. When he deliberately licked his palm, he saw the dark eyes above his flare and his own excitement returned. He reached down and began to stroke firmly. The Duke's eyes closed and he groaned loudly. "Yes, Remy, like that, exactly like that."

At the Duke's words, Remy's confidence surged. "Like this?" he breathed, as he circled his thumb around the tip of the Duke's cock.

The dark eyes opened and looked down into his. "Oh yes, Remy, like that."

Remy increased the speed of his strokes and watched avidly as Avesbury tossed his head and groaned again. "So good, sweetheart."

Then the Duke was rocking his hips, thrusting into Remy's hand, another groan, one last jerking plunge, and Remy felt the warm splatters on his chest and looking down, saw the Duke climaxing. The moment was so intense, that his own cock pulsed and throbbed in response.

He looked up, and the Duke was looking down at him again and smiling. "Remy," a husky whisper, and then Avesbury lay down beside him and brushed a soft kiss across his lips.

"Was that…?" Remy began, but was stopped by the Duke's lips again pressing hotly onto his.

Avesbury was in the strange position of needing a moment to regain his control, the first touch of Remy's hand on his aching cock had jolted him with ecstasy, and his rapid progress to release had surprised him. "It definitely was," he finally murmured against Remy's creamy throat.

Remy arched his throat to give the Duke better access and moaned when he felt the Duke's mouth biting slowly and gently into his skin. As the pressure and suction on his throat increased, Remy's cock stiffened to an almost painful hardness, and he wrapped his legs around Avesbury's thigh and began to pump his hips, desperate for any sort of friction.

He felt a buzzing chuckle against his throat before it was released, and almost cried with frustration when the Duke moved his leg. "Please…" he could not believe the strangled whisper was his, and flushed when the Duke smiled down at him.

"Shh…" Avesbury soothed, and then Remy saw the dark head lower and he felt a warm tongue licking his chest clean. He gasped in shock, and the Duke looked up and smiled again. Then he once more leaned over Remy's chest and when Remy felt a wet warmth surround his nipple and a velvet tongue caress it, he groaned loudly, and his hips bucked up of their own accord.

His breeches now painfully constricted his cock, and he groaned with relief when he felt the Duke loosen them and free his erection to the cool air. Remy whimpered when the hand was removed, and he felt another humming chuckle, this time around his nipple, which caused him to writhe in delight. He raised his hands, and tangled them in the luxuriant dark hair spread across his chest.

When the Duke's mouth began to trail down his chest to his stomach, Remy remembered the picture in the book of the man with another man's cock in his mouth. He trembled, and his own cock twitched in anticipation. He leaned up on his elbows, and looking down along his body met the Duke's eyes.

When Avesbury saw Remy watching him intently, he thought he had never seen a more beautiful sight. The boy's face was delicately flushed and his rosy, swollen lips were slightly parted with his ragged panting. Tousled coppery hair flowed in waves around his pale shoulders. But the eyes, those stormy grey eyes were huge, and now almost black with desire and need. He looked wanton and debauched and utterly gorgeous.

Avesbury moved down Remy's body with the deliberate grace of a natural predator, holding the boy's eyes with his own. He knelt down between the spread legs, and pulling Remy's knees up slightly, rested his thighs on his strong shoulders. He saw the boy's nostrils flare, as he smiled lazily at him. Then he took one long, luxurious lick along the lovely cock in front of him. He heard a stifled moan, and when he looked up again, Remy's eyes were clenched shut.

At the first touch of the Duke's tongue, Remy's body had ignited. Tendrils of flame seemed to follow the path of that rough glide along his cock, and he squeezed his eyes shut and collapsed back onto the bed. His entire concentration focused on that part of his body, as the velvet tongue caressed him again, and then swirled around his balls, making his body jerk uncontrollably. When those perfect lips surrounded the tip of his cock, and he was engulfed in a hot, wet heaven, he knew he would climax any minute. He opened his eyes and focused on the ceiling, amazed at the sensations he was experiencing. He had never imagined it could be like this, moist friction and strong suction sending him into spirals of ecstasy. He rolled his head on the pillow and moaned loudly, as he felt the pressure building. Finally he exploded, and the warm haven stayed with him as he did, riding his aftershocks, and then soothing his exhausted flesh.

Soft kisses rained on his face and lips, and he sighed softly. " _Mon Dieu_."

He heard a husky whisper in his ear. "You enjoyed that, then?"

" _Oui, merci beaucoup_."

Now in his ear a soft chuckle, and then he felt strong arms wrap around him and pull him snugly against a muscled chest. He felt a sense of drowsy satisfaction, nuzzled his face against warm skin, and sighed his contentment. He was where he belonged.


	25. The Requited Love!

When Remy woke the next morning he felt heavy headed and sluggish, and he looked around the strange room in confusion. Memory of the events the day, and then the night before, returned and he turned his head on his pillow and looked beside him. He was alone in the bed.

For a brief moment he feared that he had dreamed what had happened with the Duke, and that he was still in the power of Robespierre, but then he saw his bandaged wrists and sighed with relief. He sat up gingerly, his head throbbing slightly, and glanced around the room. There was no sign of the Duke, but he could see steam rising from a bowl of water on the table, and his shirt was folded beside him on the bed. He looked down and flushed slightly when he saw that his breeches had been refastened.

Remy slid from the bed, picking up his shirt and made his way over to the table. He felt sticky, and decided a wash with the warm water would be most welcome. He had just finished, and was pulling his shirt over his head, when the door opened and Avesbury entered the room bearing a tray.

"Ah. You're finally awake," he smiled, and placed the tray on the table. "How are you feeling?"

Remy was feeling unaccountably shy. "Tired," he answered softly. "And my head aches."

"That will be from the drug," the Duke brushed a finger along a too pale cheek and frowned. "Some breakfast should do you some good."

Remy nodded; although the way his stomach was churning he couldn't really agree. But he sat down at the table, and sighed gratefully when the Duke handed him coffee. Avesbury sat down in a chair close beside him, and Remy felt a sudden urge to lean against the broad chest and bury his head in the Duke's shoulder. He blinked his tearing eyes rapidly, surprised at the emotions rising in him, feeling out of control and scared.

"Remy?" He looked up and saw Avesbury watching him intently, his eyes understanding. "Come here."

Hesitantly he took the offered hand, and was pulled forward into strong arms. He wound his own arms around the Duke's neck and sighed, as he felt a soothing hand trailing through his unbound hair. "Shh… it will be all right."

" _Oui_ ," he whispered, and then pulled away feeling slightly embarrassed. He picked up his coffee and took a sip, as the Duke continued to watch him.

"Remy, there is something we need to talk about…"

Both of them turned as the door opened and the Earl and the Vicomte entered the room. The Earl paused for a moment on the threshold, gazed at the Duke, and then smiled slightly. "Ah. Sorry, Justin. Perhaps we should have knocked."

The Duke gave the Earl a self-mocking smile and then replied. "Yes, perhaps you should have." He stood and gripped the Earl's hand, and then glanced over at the Vicomte. "I gather you did not catch him?"

" _Non_ ," the Vicomte replied shortly.

The Duke raised an eyebrow at the Earl, who shook his head slightly. "Their horses were fresher and we could not keep up. His outriders were with him so it was probably for the best."

The Duke nodded and watched as the Vicomte approached Remy and introduced himself in French. "Is Armand all right?" he asked quietly.

"I think he is now. We talked," the Earl noted his friend's questioning look but did not elaborate. "How is Remy?"

"Tired. Robespierre had drugged him and I think he may have been under for longer than would be normal. I'll have to find some means of transport for him, I don't think he should ride today."

"We only have the three horses anyway," the Earl agreed, and thought for a moment. "They left the carriage behind. I think we can easily commandeer it."

"Excellent, then I think we should return to Avesbury immediately."

The Earl nodded his agreement, and then, as Avesbury left the room, made his way over to the table where the other two were still talking in rapid French. They looked up as he approached and Remy smiled up at him. "Gareth, it is the most amazing coincidence. Armand is a friend of my cousin, and he says that my cousin has escaped and is in Italy."

The Earl smiled to himself, as he realized how quickly the two young men had reached friendship. "That is wonderful news, Remy. And now I think that coffee looks just what I need." He sat down and accepted the cup, which the Vicomte offered. He smiled warmly at the young man, whose face suddenly flushed delicately, and he found himself the recipient of a shyly appealing look. His heart fluttered and he thought to himself ruefully, _What is this? It seems I can't meet any young French boy without falling for him. How galling to be so suddenly sentimentally romantic._

"Where is _Monseigneur_?" Remy's voice interrupted his thoughts, and he blinked and discovered that Armand was now watching him with amusement.

"Ah. Yes. He has gone to organise a carriage I believe," he replied.

Remy sipped his coffee and listened to the Earl, and his new friend Armand, discussing their plans to also return to Avesbury. At first when he had remembered his last encounter with the Earl, he had felt slightly awkward, but now as he realized that the Earl himself wasn't concerned, he relaxed. His head was still throbbing a little and he felt his drowsiness returning.

When Avesbury returned to the room he noticed Remy dozing in his chair, and laughed softly. He sat down next to the Earl and said quietly, "It's a good thing I managed to convince the landlady that the carriage is ours. I think Remy may need to sleep off the rest of the effects of the drug."

Armand glanced at the boy beside him. "I am only thankful we were in time." He smiled as he felt the Earl take his hand under the table, and squeezed it gratefully.

The Earl knew that Avesbury was watching them with an insufferably smug smile on his face, and was just about to address him with a cutting remark, when Remy let out a soft snore and his head rolled back on his chair. All three men saw the bites on his arched throat and the Duke, to his great annoyance, reddened slightly as the Earl turned to him with a scathing smile.

"I see you were successful with your apology," his voice was heavy with satisfied sarcasm.

However the Duke was now looking at Remy, and the Earl saw the angry expression on his face with some surprise.

"Yes," Avesbury answered shortly, and his voice was tight with suppressed fury. "Unfortunately not all the marks are mine."

The Earl felt his own anger rise. "Damn Robespierre. Are you saying…?"

"No," the Duke interrupted, his voice now calmer. "That is as far as things went. And I'm not sure that Remy actually knew about it, so I'd prefer to let him think they all came from me."

"Probably for the best," the Earl agreed. "Shall we leave now?"

"Yes, the carriage is ready, as are the horses."

Avesbury stood and moved over to Remy, who was still sleeping soundly. When he picked him up, the boy did not stir, so the Duke carried him down the stairs and deposited him gently in the carriage. As he closed the door he saw the landlady hovering close by.

"Are you sure he is not ill? He seems to sleep a lot," she asked in concern.

The three men looked at each other, and suddenly the tension they had all been feeling since they had seen the marks on Remy's throat, dissipated and they all burst into laughter. The landlady looked shocked, and as the Duke mounted the driver's seat of the carriage he assured her that Remy was fine. Then they all moved onto the road for Avesbury, the Earl leading the Duke's horse.

* * *

The Earl and the Vicomte rode behind the carriage, and for the first mile or two they were silent. Then the Vicomte sent a swift glance in the Earl's direction, and sighed dramatically. "So that is him, eh?"

The Earl eyed Armand narrowly. "What do you mean?"

"The one who disappointed you," the Vicomte replied seriously. "I can see why it was a disappointment, he is very lovely. But I think he was always for the Duke, _non_?"

"And I think it is none of your business," was the Earl's irritated reply before he could stop himself. He felt instant regret as the Vicomte's eyes lowered from his and the young man looked away, blushing.

" _Je suis vraiment desole_. Please forgive my lack of tact. I did not mean…" Armand struggled for a moment. "I thought…"

"You thought that I should be as open as you were with me last night," the Earl interrupted. He reached across to the other's reins and brought both their horses to a halt. "You were right, Armand" he said, as the Vicomte looked at him in surprise. "I should have been. I hope that you'll forgive my rudeness."

The Vicomte shook his head. "No, I should not have pushed you."

"Yes, it was Remy," the Earl ignored him. "But the disappointment was not as great as you may think. I'd guessed that he preferred Justin, and maybe it was for the best. I have not Justin's penchant for dominance, and I have a feeling that Remy likes it."

Armand nodded his head. "Yes, one can see it. I do not think it is just his youth. It is in his nature. They make a good match, actually."

"I agree," the Earl was eyeing the Vicomte intently, and moved his horse closer to the other's. "So now you know. Are you going to tell me why you asked?" And to his immense satisfaction he saw Armand blush again. "I think I have my answer."

Then he saw a mischievous smirk cross the other man's face. "Perhaps _you_ have a penchant for the French?"

For a moment the Earl was stunned into silence, and then he threw back his head and roared with laughter. When he recovered he reached over and took Armand's hand, and raised it to his lips. "I am certainly developing one," he murmured against the long fingers.

This action wiped the wicked grin from Armand's face, and replaced it with an appealingly shy smile. The Earl was beginning to find this odd mixture of mischief and vulnerability fascinating, and he brushed his lips against the fingers caught in his again. He moved his horse even closer until they were side-by-side, legs touching, and then he slid his arm around the other man's waist.

Armand leaned into him, and then raised his face, and the Earl took the offered lips in a soft kiss. Passion flared quickly, and the kiss did not remain gentle for long. Armand's lips parted, and the Earl did not hesitate to plunder the willing mouth under his. When the Vicomte's tongue roughly caressed his own, the Earl moaned softly and tightened his grip around Armand's waist.

The horses shifted restlessly, and they broke apart panting and the Earl saw that the Vicomte's eyes were the blackest he had ever seen them. The arousal in those eyes sent his own desire soaring, and the temptation to pull the other man off the horse and into his arms was strong. He glanced down the road and grimaced when he noticed a farm wagon turning a bend and coming towards them.

"Gareth…" Armand's voice was soft and breathless, and the Earl pressed a swift kiss onto his tantalisingly parted lips.

"Later, I promise you," he assured him.

The Vicomte rewarded him with a radiant smile, and they spurred their horses on to follow the rapidly disappearing carriage.


	26. The Misunderstanding!

Remy woke extremely surprised to be lying on a seat in a carriage, and sat up quickly to look out the window. He guessed they were on the way to Avesbury, and when he turned his head he saw the Earl and the Vicomte riding behind, so he assumed that the Duke must be driving. Armand waved at him cheerfully and he returned the wave, and then leaned back in the seat and gazed out at the countryside.

His headache had gone, but he felt strangely depressed and still tired. He was beginning to think that his exhaustion was emotional rather than physical, he felt like he had lived through a lifetime in three short days. It had really begun with the news of his parent's death, and for the first time he realized that he would never see them again. Having not seen them for a while already, the truth of that fact hadn't seemed quite real, but now it struck him hard and he felt completely alone.

He wished fervently that the Duke was in the carriage with him, and was immediately distracted by the thought of the man who had filled his mind since he had met him. It was quite amazing, he reflected, how lately it seemed that all his emotions revolved around Avesbury. Even more amazing was his physical reaction to him and even now, Remy could feel desire and arousal bubbling inside him as he remembered the night before. It was a pity they had not had more time that morning, he reflected with a smile, and then he recalled that the Duke had wanted to talk about something, before they were interrupted.

Remy spent the next five minutes in speculation about what that could have been, and then felt his heart jolt as he remembered Sanford. He still did not know why Sanford had taken him to Robespierre; the Duke had said nothing except that it was a mistake. Was it possible that Robespierre had somehow forced Sanford to do it, that Sanford had had no choice? Because otherwise, why would Sanford do such a thing? Even if he was jealous of Remy, the Duke had after all, returned to London and Sanford.

And now Remy remembered, with a sinking heart, that Avesbury had only apologised for the way he had left, and not for leaving at all. It was also true that he than gone on to say that they were not right together, that there was too much age difference between them, and it was after that he had…

Remy's face flamed in shame and embarrassment as he recalled how he had flung himself at the Duke, practically assaulted him, and really was he no better than Robespierre? Of course after a moment, the Duke _had_ responded, and they had continued on to make love, but perhaps Avesbury had done it because he didn't want to humiliate Remy by rejecting him at such a moment. It was quite probable that he still believed that Remy was too young, and that he would still choose Sanford. And that was probably what he had been going to say to Remy that morning before the Earl and the Vicomte arrived.

The logic of this conclusion was inescapable and Remy's depression and loneliness now overwhelmed him. The tears were pouring down his face and he tried in vain to control his sobbing, but he was too exhausted and too distressed. He threw himself down onto the seat and abandoned himself to his misery, only praying that they would not reach Avesbury before he regained his control.

By the time the carriage entered the drive of the estate he had regained some composure and had also decided that his best course of action would be to join his cousin in Italy. He did not think that he could bear to stay at Avesbury, if the Duke was to be with Sanford. He remembered that Avesbury was now his guardian, and hoped desperately that he would be able to convince him to let him go, without having to resort to running away.

As the carriage stopped he heard the Earl and the Vicomte ride up and talk to the Duke, although he could not hear what they were saying. He could see the stablehands running to collect the horses, and then heard Mrs Ransome speaking excitedly to the Earl. His heart thumped as he realized the time had come to face the Duke, and then the door opened, and Avesbury was smiling at him and holding out his hand.

* * *

Avesbury got quite a shock when he saw Remy, and the smile faded from his face. It was apparent the boy had spent some considerable time in crying, his eyes were swollen and red rimmed, and his control, judging by his trembling lips, was still quite tremulous. He frowned, reached out and took Remy's hand helping him from the carriage, but as soon as his feet hit the ground Remy withdrew his hand and began to move away. The Duke quickly gripped his arm and held him in place.

"Remy?"

"Could I go inside, _Monseigneur_?" Remy had still not met his eyes.

"We all will," the Duke replied, and began to walk up the steps, still holding Remy's arm. The Vicomte and the Earl joined them; the latter took one look at Remy's face and shot the Duke a questioning look. Avesbury shrugged his shoulders and continued into the hall, and then onto the drawing room.

Mrs Ransome already had refreshment waiting for them when they entered the room, and the Earl immediately handed around some glasses of wine. Remy did not take one, and as soon as the Duke let go of his arm to take his own, he moved away into the furthest corner. The Earl watched him go and then turned to the Duke. "What on Earth happened?"

"I have no idea, but I intend to find out," the Duke replied shortly, and took a sip of his wine.

The Earl was eyeing him intently. "Justin, he's been through a lot in the last few days. Be patient with him."

"Gareth, there's no need to tell me that, I assure you." For a brief moment the Duke allowed his anxiety to show, and his friend nodded at him. "I know he's hurting, I won't add to it again."

The Duke finished his wine, set down the glass and joined his ward where he was standing, rather morosely regarding a painting of some hunting dogs.

"Quite fine, aren't they?" Avesbury offered, but the only response he received was a nod. "Want to tell me about it?" he asked gently, after a moment of silence.

He turned to face Remy, but the boy would not meet his eyes. Avesbury was now becoming very concerned, as he still received no answer. "Remy?" he prompted, and his voice was firm with a slight hint of command.

His ward took a visibly deep breath and then finally spoke. "I think I should join my cousin in Italy."

Avesbury was astonished at this statement, he had not been aware that Remy _had_ a cousin in Italy, and he felt a stirring of anger which he suppressed quickly. "I beg your pardon?" he asked mildly.

He could see that Remy's lips were trembling again, and he was extremely tempted to simply take them with his own, but obviously the boy was in distress and he had to find out why. "I think you should tell me why you think that, don't you?"

Now he heard a soft sob and he could no longer resist, he wound an arm around Remy's waist and drew him closer. For a moment he felt Remy melt against him, and then slender hands pushed against his chest and Remy stepped back.

"I am so very sorry, _Monseigneur_. You have been… so kind to me and I have… behaved so badly. I should not have… forced myself on you, the way I did. Please… forgive me." Remy's voice was wobbling with his distress and at first the Duke wasn't sure he heard correctly, but when he was his anxiety was again replaced with astonishment.

"Forced me? What on earth are you talking about, love?"

Before Remy could answer, the door had opened and the Duke turned as Lord Beaumont and Timothy entered the room, both talking loudly.

"I could really do without these damned interruptions," Avesbury muttered, and moved forward as Lord Beaumont approached him. "What are you doing here, Harry?"

"I knew you'd be here, Justin. We couldn't sit around and wait, and we've had such a time."

Both men were grinning broadly, and then both noticed Remy hovering behind the Duke. "Hello Remy," Timothy held out a hand.

When Remy took the hand briefly, smiled tremulously up at Timothy and then retreated back to the corner, both men looked at each other in concern.

"Justin, tell me you were in time?" Beaumont asked quietly.

"We were in time, Harry," Avesbury replied, frowning.

"Then why is he…?"

The Earl had noticed Avesbury's expression and now interrupted. "What exactly have you and Timothy been up to, Harry? You have that look of mischief about you that, I know, usually spells disaster."

Beaumont turned to him and laughed. "Well, it wasn't a disaster for us. We found Sanford."

The Duke's frustration found a new direction and his anger at his former lover flared. He took a step forward and when he spoke his voice was tight with suppressed emotion. "Sanford? Where is he?"

Beaumont had just opened his mouth to speak, when they all heard a loud sob from the corner. All turned as one, but Remy was already running for the door, and before any could move he was gone.

"Remy?" Timothy was astounded, and Beaumont added, "What on earth…?"

The Duke was already at the door when the Earl's voice halted him. "Justin!"

He turned, his impatience evident. " _What?_ "

"I have a feeling… Remy knew about you and Sanford. Did you talk about it at all?"

Understanding flooded into the Duke's mind. "Damn it all to hell!" he swore, and then left the room to search for his troublesome love.

After he was gone, Lord Beaumont turned to the Earl and the Vicomte. "Does one of you want to tell me what is going on?"

"Not really," the Earl replied smoothly. "I would prefer you to tell us about Sanford. You said you found him?"

"Yes," Beaumont was grinning again. "The silly twit was heading to his own estate. We caught up to him at an inn in some village. He was quite terrified when he saw us, but he relaxed when we pretended we didn't know what he'd been up to."

"You pretended you didn't know what had happened?" The Earl was frowning in puzzlement.

"Yes, it was Timothy's idea actually," Beaumont winked at his lover. "And I must say, the whole thing turned out to be vastly entertaining."

"Harry, what did you do?" The Vicomte's face now wore a large grin of its own as he gazed at his friend.

"Nothing at first," it was Timothy who answered. "He invited us to dine with him, and then I think he tried to drink us under the table." He giggled. "It didn't work very well."

Beaumont laughed and looked at the Earl. "You know what he's like, Gareth. He passed out after four bottles."

"I see," the Earl was now smiling himself. "And what did you do then?"

Timothy was now giggling uncontrollably and his lover watched him with amusement. "We cut off all his hair. Shaved him quite bald, even his eyebrows," Beaumont paused for a moment, laughed, and then continued, "He… s…snored all the way through it."

The Vicomte had now joined Timothy in giggling, and they both slumped onto a sofa as their laughter overcame them. The Earl watched them for a moment, and then turned back to Beaumont. "I have a feeling it didn't end there, Harry."

Beaumont shook his head, and a gurgled laugh came from the sofa. Then Timothy gasped for breath and spoke, "We stole all his clothes, all of them." He collapsed against the Vicomte as both succumbed once more to laughter.

The Earl's mouth twitched and his eyes sparkled as he looked at Beaumont. "And?"

"We also stole his horse," Beaumont confessed. "You don't think he'll set the magistrate after us do you?"

Gales of merriment from the sofa echoed through the room, and the Earl's mouth broke into a smile. "Really Harry, you astonish me."

Beaumont laughed, and then sobered into a frown. "Yes, but what do you think Justin will say?"

Now the Earl finally laughed. "Well I do think he may have had something more violent in mind, but I have a feeling he'll forgive you."


	27. The Declaration!

It did not take Avesbury long to find Remy. He made his way straight to the lake, and sure enough, there was the slight figure lying face down on the grass. As he got closer he could see that the boy's shoulders were shaking, and he could hear his muffled sobs.

Avesbury stood for a moment watching him. His anger had dissipated and he knew he would have to act with caution; it was obvious that Remy had worked himself into a state of extreme tension. He waited for a moment, and then remarked, "You know, this is a beautiful spot, but I think that you are the most beautiful thing in it."

The figure stiffened, and then he heard a muffled but fierce response. "Go away."

The Duke ignored that order and promptly sat down on the grass beside Remy. He reached out a hand and rested it lightly on the boy's rigid back. He decided it was time to shake Remy out of his misery and said in a firm voice. "Remy, you're acting like a child."

The response was immediate. Remy sat up, drew back his arm, and swung with all his might at Avesbury. The Duke barely had time to grab the boy's wrist before it could impact with his shoulder. "I don't think you really want to do that," he stated, and then saw Remy wince. He noticed the bandage still on Remy's wrist, and loosened his grip. With his other hand he untied the bandage and checked the wounds thoroughly, relieved to see that the sores were clean and healing, although there was some bruising around them. He looked up at Remy, who had stopped crying and was now glaring at him in sulky resentment.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Let me see the other one," he held out a hand, and after a moments hesitation Remy untied the remaining bandage himself and presented his wrist for inspection. It was in the same condition as the other one and after the Duke had assured himself of that, he leaned forward and placed a soft kiss on one of the tender bruises.

Remy gasped and pulled back his hand. "Why are you here?" he asked angrily.

"Where else would I want to be?" the Duke asked in response.

"I…" Remy paused for a moment and frowned. "I thought you would go and help Sanford."

"Help Sanford?" Avesbury raised his eyebrows. "Why on earth…?" He thought for a moment. "Remy, I don't think you realise. Sanford took you to Robespierre because he was angry. He'd heard the story of Robespierre's interest in you, and he decided to use you for revenge."

"Revenge?" the Duke saw the anger fade and shy speculation enter Remy's eyes. "Why did he want revenge?"

"I think you know that Sanford and I had an association, Remy. Did Sanford tell you about it?" Remy did not answer, but he shook his head and a faint blush rose in his pale cheeks. The Duke noted his embarrassment and decided to let it go. "Very well. If I had known that you were aware of the relationship, I would have talked to you about this. The association was very short and I actually ended it a few days ago. That is why Sanford was angry."

As he heard these words, hope blossomed in Remy's heart and he forgot his previous doubts and shyly reached out a hand, which the Duke took immediately. "You broke with him?"

Avesbury smiled slightly, as he understood the meaning behind the softly spoken question. "The relationship was never serious, and I could not continue it when all I could think of was you." He saw the light enter Remy's grey eyes and drew him slowly closer as he spoke again. "It's you I want, Remy."

And with that Remy was in his arms, clinging tightly around his neck, and the Duke buried his face in the coppery silken hair and surprised himself by taking a deep breath of relief. Then the tender skin of Remy's throat so close to his lips was too much temptation, and he began to kiss and nibble his way down to the boy's shoulder, pulling at his shirt to move it out of the way. He was rewarded with a soft moan, and Remy arched his throat exposing more of his delicious flesh to the Duke's hungry mouth. Avesbury was delighted with Remy's immediate response, and he reached between them, untied the boy's shirt, and delved his hand in to find a dusky pink nipple. He rolled it lightly between his fingers and felt Remy's hands grip his shoulders tightly, and heard his ragged breathing close to his ear.

"Oh yes, I want you Remy," he whispered, and then turned his head and took the parted lips in a hard kiss. His tongue immediately found Remy's and slid against it deliciously. The kiss was long and deep and hungry and both were gasping for air when it finally broke.

Remy was in heaven. Finally he was sure that the Duke really wanted him, and even though he still felt his inexperience, his confidence was surging as his desire began to control his body. He found himself untying the Duke's shirt, while Avesbury struggled to remove his coat, and he ran his lips and teeth over the strong throat before him. He was rewarded with a soft hiss, and then finally the Duke's arms were free and were winding tightly around his waist again. As he finished opening the Duke's shirt, Avesbury lay back on the grass pulling Remy with him, so that Remy found himself sprawled on top of the Duke.

Avesbury was momentarily content to lie back, close his eyes, and enjoy the moment, as Remy knelt above him and began to explore his chest with that decadent mouth. Silky hair trailed over his chest, and the mouth continued its sweet torture over his skin and around his nipples. The Duke stretched luxuriously and waited to see what would happen next. He wasn't disappointed, as wet lips and teeth grazed over his abdomen, resulting in a delicious shudder and a stiffening erection. Then he felt Remy's fingers fumbling at the ties to his breeches, and his eyes opened in surprise at the direction the boy's actions seemed to be taking.

Remy moved to kneel beside the Duke and turned to continue with his task of freeing Avesbury's cock. When he finally had the breeches spread open, he paused in some trepidation. He wasn't entirely sure he wanted to do this, but he remembered the wonderful sensations he had experienced the night before, and he wanted to give his lover the same pleasure. He combed his fingers through the hair surrounding the Duke's hard flesh, and watched it twitch in response as a heavy, musky scent surrounded him, a scent which stirred his own cock.

"Remy?" He looked up and met warm brown eyes regarding him with concern. "You don't have to…"

" _Non_ ," he shook his head and saw the brown eyes flare as his hair tickled the cock below him. "I want to."

And then he took the heavy erection in his mouth. He held the base in his hand and swirled his tongue around the tip, dipping it under the foreskin. The taste was salty and slight bitter, but he did not find it unpleasant and quickly found himself stretching his mouth wide to accommodate more of its length. The head hit the back of his throat and he gagged slightly, then eased back a bit, and began a sucking, stroking caress.

The Duke rolled his head on the grass, lost in blissful ecstasy. "Oh yes, Remy, that's so good," he encouraged breathlessly. The feeling of the boy's hot mouth on his aching erection was erotic torture, and he had to restrain himself from reaching down, holding Remys' head in place, and pumping into his mouth with wild abandon. He distracted himself by watching the delectable arse so temptingly displayed before him, and came to the sudden realization that he still had not seen it unclothed. He decided he wasn't going to wait any longer, and reached between the boy's slightly parted legs to untie his breeches. The Duke shuddered with pleasure when Remy hummed a moan around his cock and rubbed himself on Avesbury's forearm.

Once he had the breeches open he pulled back his arm, and smiled when he felt the disappointed groan in his groin. Remy seemed to have lost his initial hesitation and was now enthusiastically exploring the Duke's balls. The hot, wet mouth soon returned to his cock, and Avesbury groaned himself, at the velvet friction of Remy's tongue. Then he remembered his goal and reaching forward, grasped the waist of Remy's breeches and hauled them down to his knees. He felt Remy freeze for a moment in surprise but then he hummed softly, and the busy tongue continued its sweet torture.

Avesbury gazed at the gorgeous sight before him. Two creamy, smooth globes, tight and compact, and his cock jumped in Remy's mouth at the thought of sliding between them. He ran a hand lightly over one cheek, feeling the tight muscle under satin skin, and then continued down between the boy's legs to his stiff erection. He stroked it once, and was supremely tempted to pull Remy over his face and take him in his mouth, but he could feel his orgasm rapidly approaching and he realized that Remy might not be ready for this culmination. So instead he reached down, grabbed his lover's arms, hauling him up along his body, and then rolled them both over, pinning the slender body beneath his own powerful one.

Remy was shocked when he suddenly felt himself dragged upwards, and struggled for a moment until he felt Avesbury's heavy weight descend upon him. Then the Duke knelt above him, and forceful hands pulled his breeches off and then spread his legs up and apart so that his feet rested flat on the grass. He looked up, and his stomach fluttered deliciously at the intently passionate expression on the Duke's face. His lover settled between his legs and pushed against him, and at the first few hard thrusts of the Duke's cock against his own, Remy's eyes rolled back and he climaxed in great spurts between their bodies, his seed immediately creating a slick friction.

Avesbury continued his powerful thrusts against Remy, seeking his own release, his excitement fuelled by the sensuous writhing of the relaxed body under his and Remy's sweet moans of satisfaction. At the sound of a softly whispered, "Justin," his release came, ripping through his body and out of his straining cock, leaving him shuddering in it's wake. He collapsed onto the pliant body beneath him and let out a ragged breath. Gentle hands smoothed down his spine and then through his hair, and he pulled himself up to rest on his forearms and gazed at the flushed face below him.

"You learn fast," he smiled, and when Remy blushed, he laughed. "Although I think you're a natural." The boy blushed yet a deeper red, and he kissed him gently on the lips. Remy was still incapable of speech so the Duke kissed him once more, and then gently lifted himself off Remy, grimacing slightly at the sticky mess between them.

"We had better go inside and clean up. It's getting late, and we will have to join our tiresome guests for dinner."

Remy laughed, and then frowned. "The way I left… they must think me very stupid."

The Duke pulled him to his feet and took him in his arms. "Don't worry sweetheart. They understand, and I've seen them do stupider things, believe me."

Remy laughed again, feeling his heart flutter at the term of endearment, and then winced at the unpleasant sticky sensation in his breeches, as the Duke refastened them. Avesbury retied his own breeches and picked up his coat. Then he took Remy's hand and led him back to the house. When they grew close the Duke leaned over and whispered in his ear, "Tonight I'll finally get you completely naked."

And Remy wondered if he would ever grow out of blushing.


	28. The Happy Ending!

The Duke was late reaching the drawing room, and when he entered and looked around the room he saw that Remy had not yet arrived. The Earl directed a questioning glance at him, and he smiled and made his way over to where his friend stood with Lord Beaumont. Beaumont immediately accosted him and began to tell him about his adventures with Sanford. Avesbury however was only listening with half his attention, and when he saw Remy enter the room, he murmured the comment that he supposed injuring Sanford's considerable vanity and pride was more humiliating then more violent means, and abruptly made his way to his lover's side.

Beaumont was left blinking in surprise, mouth open in mid-sentence. He shot a glance at the Earl, noticed his amused expression and snapped his mouth shut. Then he turned and watched the Duke and Remy for a moment. "I gather," he said to the Earl, "that Justin has been messing about with Remy?"

The Earl laughed and nodded.

"Jolly good," Beaumont approved. "Now at least Timothy won't be tempted to kiss him again." And he smirked, as he left the Earl in his turn blinking.

Dinner was a relaxed and good-humoured affair, and Remy felt the slight embarrassment he had experienced on entering the drawing room fade as he enjoyed the conversation. He noticed that the Earl and the Vicomte occasionally spoke quietly to each other, and saw Beaumont eyeing them narrowly. Then Beaumont glanced around the table, smiled wickedly, and remarked loudly, "You know it's positively sickening, the romance in this room. Have you been putting something in the wine Avesbury?"

Remy felt himself flushing hotly, and felt relieved when he glanced across the table and saw Armand also blushing.

"I'm sorry you feel that way, Beaumont," the Duke replied calmly, and then added severely, "You are, however, not in the position of having to employ a new courier."

Remy saw Timothy direct a stricken look at the Duke, and then blush when he saw Avesbury smiling at him. Beaumont laughed, and Remy's eyes widened when he saw Beaumont briefly squeeze Timothy's hand. His eyes met Timothy's kind hazel ones, and he grinned when Timothy winked at him.

After dinner they all returned to the drawing room, and Beaumont smiled knowingly when the Earl and the Vicomte professed themselves exhausted and withdrew soon after. He looked over at Timothy. "Well you know, I guess I'm pretty tired too," he drawled, and glanced over at the Duke. "And I imagine you two have had a long day as well, so I think I'll call it a night, so to speak." Before the Duke could respond, Beaumont, who had already been dragging Timothy to the door, was gone.

Avesbury looked down at the amused face beside him. "We seem to have been abandoned, Remy. In that case, would you like to join me in retiring?"

Remy's face had now taken on a shyly, nervous expression, but he nodded his head. " _Oui, Monseigneur_."

The Duke smiled down at him. "I think I mentioned once that I prefer to hear ' _Justin_ ' from your lips, Remy."

Remy returned the smile. " _Tres bien_ , Justin. I would like to retire with you."

Remy felt extremely anxious as he followed the Duke to his bedchamber. He felt that he was taking an important and irrevocable step in his life, and as much as he wanted to be with the Duke, the thought brought tension, as he wondered what might happen to him next.

When they entered the room, Remy looked around curiously. The chamber was large, and comfortably furnished, with a sofa and some chairs. Still, the Duke's large bed dominated the area, and Remy could not help blushing slightly as he looked at it.

He turned, and found the Duke watching him seriously, and he shifted nervously. Avesbury reached forward and took one of Remy's hands in his own. "Do you remember that, this morning, I said that there was something we should talk about?"

When Remy nodded, the Duke continued, "I had meant to talk about this before our situation had progressed as far as it has." He noticed the worry entering Remy's eyes and smiled reassuringly. "I need to be sure that this is truly what you want. You see, Remy, these sort of relationships between men are not accepted by our society. While my position has allowed me to establish a small circle of friends who enjoy the same pleasures that I do, if our activities were widely known we would be condemned. I think you are aware of this?"

Remy, who had been listening with a furiously beating heart, nodded and waited for the Duke to continue. "I must return to London, and I wish you to join me, Remy, as my lover. But, if you do, I want you to be sure about what you are doing, the lifestyle you will be living. You are very young, and it is not an easy life, to always act with that extra discretion which is not required by other members of society. Perhaps you should take some time to think about it."

One thing that Remy was definitely sure of was that he didn't need any more time to think, and he shook his head. "I would be happiest with you," he answered simply.

"You are sure?" the Duke asked.

" _Oui_ , Justin," Remy reassured his lover. "I want to be with you." And then he was pulled forward into a strong embrace and the Duke's mouth descended on his. Remy had expected instant passion, but instead his lips were softly and lovingly caressed by the Duke's. Then he was released, and Avesbury led him over to the bed, sat him down on its end and then knelt between his legs.

This time the kiss _was_ passionate, and Remy wrapped his arms around the Duke's neck, as his mouth was hungrily devoured. The lips moved down to his throat, and again Remy felt a sucking bite against his skin. He moaned and arched against the Duke, pressing forward into his powerful body, and then he heard a hot whisper in his ear, "You're mine now, Remy, if that is what you wish."

" _Oui_ ," he breathed. "And you are mine?"

A soft laugh in his ear. "Oh yes, sweetheart, most definitely."

Remy had never known a greater satisfaction at hearing these words, and he laughed as the Duke's mouth again moved on his throat. Avesbury's hands were now untying his shirt, and when it was undone he shrugged it off, as his lover moved on to remove his breeches.

Then he was pushed back to lie on the bed, and Avesbury stood between his legs and swiftly removed his own clothes before moving to cover Remy's body. At the first touch of the Duke's hot skin against his own, Remy's excitement flared, and he rubbed himself sensuously against the body above his.

"Oh yes," the Duke whispered, and then kissed Remy fiercely, plunging his tongue deep into his mouth. Remy groaned around the invasion, and his writhing became more frantic. He gripped the Duke's arms tightly, and then lifted his legs and wrapped them around his lover's waist.

The Duke was now pushing his hips against Remy gently, and Remy could feel the rough friction of his lover's cock against his own hardness. He lay still, for a moment, and concentrated on the delicious sensation, and a wonderfully floating feeling of pleasure and love washed over him. The Duke had released his mouth and was now looking down at him, and Remy smiled up at him dreamily, and ran a hand through the Duke's long hair.

Avesbury watched the vision of sensual abandonment under him and knew a moment of pure satisfaction and contentment that this lovely creature was now his. Somehow Remy had invaded his heart and soul, and the thought no longer made him uncomfortable, but instead filled him with a deep sense of rightness. Strong feelings of tenderness flooded into him, and then he felt again the friction of his cock against Remy's and passion returned. He took Remy's mouth in a hard kiss, delighting in the boy's instant response, and began to move his hips more forcefully. Then his foot slipped on the floor, and he realized that they were still perched on the edge of the bed. He wrapped his arms around his lover's waist and prepared to shift further onto the bed.

As the Duke moved them up onto the bed, Remy slipped slightly, landing on his side, as Avesbury's body pressed into him from behind. Somehow the sensation sent a jolt of pleasure through his body, he found himself pressing back into the Duke's groin, and gasped when he felt the tip of his lover's cock brush against the entrance to his body.

Avesbury's arms tightened around his body, holding him tightly in place. "Remy?" the Duke's voice sounded ragged in his ear.

"Please…" Remy murmured, and pushed back again, concentrating on the friction of the Duke's cock against him. It was driving him mad with delicious anticipation and he knew he wanted desperately to feel the Duke inside him.

"Tell me," the Duke whispered hoarsely. "What do you want?"

"I want…" Remy moaned in frustration as the Duke's hands stopped his hips from pushing back again. "Please… I want you to…" he felt himself blushing but forced the words out, "I want you to fuck me."

Avesbury had pulled away from him slightly, and now he rolled Remy over onto his back and looked down into his flushed face. "You know what that means?"

Remy reddened even further. "Yes," he whispered.

The Duke was watching him intently, and Remy forced himself to shyly meet the other man's eyes. Avesbury smiled at him reassuringly, and then said seriously, "We don't have to rush to do that, Remy. There are plenty of other ways we can enjoy each other."

Remy frowned at him doubtfully. "Don't you want to?"

Avesbury closed his eyes for a brief moment. "Oh yes, Remy, I do want to do that with you," he looked down and saw the satisfaction in his love's grey eyes. "But you have to be very sure. It can hurt, you know."

"I thought it was supposed to be very pleasurable," Remy was frowning again.

"Yes, many men like it," the Duke was quick to assure him, "but just at first, when I'm going in, even when I'm very careful, it can still hurt."

"But after that it is good?" Remy was feeling slightly stunned that he had managed to hold such a direct conversation on this topic without blushing again.

The Duke leaned over him and brushed a gentle kiss across his lips. "Yes, after that I think you will find it very good."

"I want to do it," Remy told him firmly.

Avesbury closed his eyes again, and for a moment Remy feared that he would be rejected, but then once more the Duke leaned down, and Remy's mouth was taken in a hard and hungry kiss. He instantly parted his lips and his lover's tongue swept through his mouth briefly and then was gone.

He was once more rolled onto his side, and then over onto his stomach, and he felt the Duke's hot lips trail a path across his shoulders and then down along his spine. He trembled and writhed at the exquisite sensation on the sensitive skin of his back, and when Avesbury's teeth grazed and nipped gently around his waist, he moaned.

Then he felt the Duke's tongue licking across the top of his buttocks, and he tensed in anticipation, wondering what would happen next. His achingly erect cock was pressed painfully into the bed, and he lifted his hips slightly to ease it, and the next thing he knew the Duke had gripped his hips and pulled him up so that he was kneeling on the bed with his face pressed against the pillows.

He remembered the first picture in the book and felt a moment of pure terror at how fast this was happening, but before he could react, he felt hot wetness trailing up his cleft, and he froze in shock as he realized that his lover was now licking him. Remy looked down along his body and saw the Duke kneeling behind him with his face buried in Remy's arse, and the sight sent delicious flutters through his stomach and his cock stiffened again. Resting his head on the pillow again, Remy concentrated on the sensations being produced in his rear.

Now the Duke's tongue was firmly caressing his balls, and then once more it made a sweeping lick up along his cleft, and Remy shivered in delight. This time the tongue remained at the entrance to his body and he could feel it's warm pressure increasing, and when it pushed inside him, Remy was shocked to hear himself let out a short cry of ecstasy. He felt the tongue withdraw, and moaned his dismay. He heard a soft chuckle behind him, and then the tongue pushed into him again, and this time Remy swivelled his hips up and pushed back against it, increasing the pressure and feeling his cock begin to pulse. When the warm, wet tongue moved inside him, Remy cried out again, and was completely stunned when he suddenly climaxed onto the bed. He collapsed into a boneless heap in his own mess, and stretched luxuriously.

Avesbury moved swiftly once he had accomplished his goal of relaxing Remy as much as possible. He reached over and picked up the small bottle of oil from the table beside the bed, and used it to slick up his hands and fingers, and then dropped it on the bed beside him. Then he ran one hand down Remy's back in a smooth caress and massaged some oil around his anus. Remy again stretched on the bed and murmured softly, and when Avesbury looked up, he saw grey eyes watching him from over one pale shoulder.

He smiled at the boy, and stroked one finger across the entrance to his body firmly, satisfied when Remy's eyes closed and he shivered in pleasure. _Thank god for the recovery time of the young_ , he thought to himself, and then pushed one finger into Remy's body. The boy was tight, and the Duke settled himself to a session of stretching.

It actually didn't take as long as he thought it would and by the time Avesbury had two fingers inside Remy, the boy was again on his hands and knees and pushing back against his hand. He was making the most delicious moans, and it was becoming more difficult for the Duke to distract himself from his own growing hunger, and remain patient. When he pushed in yet a third finger, Remy froze for a moment, but when the Duke moved his fingers slightly, again Remy pushed against him, so he reached for the oil, and using his mouth opened it and poured some onto his aching cock. For a moment he stared at the bottle in his hand, and then with a smile and a shrug of his shoulders he threw it on the floor, sending the lid after it. Then he slicked the oil along his cock, knelt up behind the still moaning Remy, and removed his fingers.

When Remy felt the larger pressure against his entrance, he knew immediately what it was, and he experienced a strange moment of absolute terror mixed with absolute lust. Again he looked behind, and saw the Duke kneeling behind him, just like the picture in the book. The Duke had an expression of intense concentration on his face, and Remy shivered in fearful anticipation of what would happen next.

His eyes widened when he felt a searing pain as the thickness of the Duke's cock pushed into him, and he could not help himself from whimpering slightly. Then he felt a soft caress along his thigh, and heard Avesbury murmuring soothingly, "Shh, sweetheart, it's all right love."

"Yes," he whispered, and it was true that the pain was already fading. He realized that his lover was waiting and nodded his head, and immediately the Duke was slowly pushing forward again, and he felt nothing but pleasure as he felt the delicious slide of his lover's thick cock entering him, filling him.

The hot, hard length was better, Remy decided, then his own or the Duke's fingers had been, and he pushed back, feeling the Duke's balls resting against his own and enjoying the sound of the Duke's soft gasp of surprise.

"I gather you're all right?" His lover's voice was hoarse with passion but Remy could hear the amusement in it and grinned.

" _Oui_ ," he replied and wiggled his hips sensually.

He heard the Duke gasp again, and then his hips were gripped firmly. He felt the Duke pull back, and the thick cock was pushing into him again, with more force then the first time.

" _Mon dieu_ ," the words were forced from Remy in a great rush of electric ecstasy. His cock twitched between his legs, and he could feel his body trembling with the sensations coursing through it. The Duke thrust into him again, and again, and again, and Remy found himself pushing back with each thrust in delirious eagerness to feel that hard cock sliding into him.

A sort of frenzy of unspecified need was rising in him, and it came to him suddenly that he was babbling incoherently at his lover. "Please… _Mon dieu, t'encule moi_ … fuck me… please, harder… do it harder."

Avesbury grinned tightly as he heard the words and encouragement coming from his, normally shy, lover. The boy's passion and need was demanding satisfaction, and the Duke's own lust was consuming him. He gripped Remy's hips in his hands tightly, and began to thrust more forcefully into the tight, hot passage, which so delightfully gripped his cock.

Now Remy shuddered in lustful pleasure as each ramming push of the Duke's cock into his body, pounded against a place inside, which sent sparks of sensation shooting all over him. Then he felt a firm hand close around his rigid erection, and he cried out.

"Oh yes… please, more… more."

"Yes, Remy love, there's more," the Duke's panting voice assured him, and the hand stroked his cock in a firm rhythm, matching the increasingly powerful thrusts into Remy's body.

And Remy exploded. His orgasm ripped forcefully through his body, taking his mind with it, and for one perfect moment he was nothing but pure sensation and ecstasy. Then awareness returned, and he realized that he had slumped forward so that his head was buried in the pillows, the Duke was still holding his hips in a bruising grip, and the pounding thrusts into his body had increased in tempo. Then after a few, jerkingly hard thrusts, he heard the Duke groan, and sighed with satisfaction as he knew that his lover had released inside him.

After a long moment, Avesbury loosened his hold on Remy's hips, wrapped his arms around his waist, and gently rolled them over onto their sides. Remy smiled as he realized that the Duke's cock was still inside him, and pushed back invitingly. The Duke placed a nipping kiss on his shoulder.

"Not yet, you insatiable brat. You've exhausted me."

Remy smiled again and reached down for his lover's hand, bringing it up to his lips. "Justin," he sighed softly, and then nibbled on a knuckle. He felt a gentle kiss on the back of his neck, and then another just behind his ear, and sighed again in drowsy contentment. His eyes were growing heavy, and eventually they drifted shut and he snuggled into the warm haven of his lover's arms.

His Grace, the Duke of Avesbury looked down at the beautiful young man sleeping in his arms and fervently blessed the day, far past in his childhood, when he had first met Dominic Saint-Clair.

 

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, there it is. Have to admit that re-reading this chapter that sex scene made me cringe and I almost rewrote it, but in the end decided to leave it, for better or worse. After all, this story was meant to be flowery and highly dramatic and totally ridiculous so it certainly fits into the totally ridiculous bit!


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